Beautiful Collisions
by elleisforlovee
Summary: To the world's amusement, Sybil Crawley and Tom Branson have been best friends since they were children. Sybil grew up in a house full of secrets and now at the age of 18 she has one of her own, one she can't even share with Tom. *A Modern AU fic*
1. Calendar Girl

**Disclaimer:** I cannot take credit for the inception of these characters. This plot and this version of them, however, is mine.

**A/N:** As promised, here it is! This fanfiction has been a few months in the making and I am so thrilled to finally be posting it. I have spent so much time going over plot and characterization and prose to get this exactly where I want it to be. Enjoy and please, please, please review!

Also big thanks to my best friend and beta, **captions**! I owe her the world for making my banner and taking the time to really edit this with me.

* * *

"If I am lost for a day; try to find me  
But if I don't come back, then I won't look behind me  
All of the things that I thought were so easy  
Just got harder and harder each day  
December is darkest and June is the light but this empty bedroom won't make anything right  
While out on the landing a friend I forgot to send home  
Who waits up for me all through the night  
Calendar girl who's in love with the world  
Stay alive."  
-_Calendar Girl_, Stars

* * *

Slowly, then quickly, like the catch of a flame, he was inside of her. It happened like this, the two of them falling apart only to come together. It used to be because she was angry - at the world, at her parents, at herself. Now, there never needed to be a reason. She wished it didn't have to be like this and that it didn't have to be him, but he was there that day and now she just couldn't say no. This version of herself could never say no.

With his lips on her neck, he bit her skin, knowing a cast of his teeth would be on her collarbone if he didn't soothe the skin with his tongue. He wouldn't. She deserved to feel him there as everyone else stared at something they would never really let them see.

He was teasing now, sliding out so that just the tip of his cock was resting still past her center. She tried to grind into him, but he pulled back again, keeping them at this distance. As she reached up to him, he rammed down into her, making her cry out. She wouldn't dare say his name, so she muttered a small profanity into his shoulder instead.

"Sybil, I hear-"

She cut him off, running her hands immediately up to his hairline as her voice sang a soft "shh". He was fully sheathed inside of her, rocking to a rhythm they were both comfortable with. He had stopped though, just when her body had told him to keep going. He was like this lately, so unsure and patient. It made Sybil feel an ache from deep within, one that could only begin to subside as he gave her exactly what she had been craving, leaving a row of kisses from her collarbone all the way up to her forehead.

Another ache presented itself, like a tingling that stretched her toes and made her cry out. It wasn't his name, or a profanity, but a guttural moan. It was frustration and pleasure, covering up the words she wanted to say and the way her body just wanted to push him away and end all of this. Sometimes she wished it was a dream, and like the way she used to be awoken for school, someone would turn on the light and end her slumber, giving her no other choice but to wake up and face the day. She wasn't a child anymore, and the decisions she made were her own.

Lately they had perfected the art of coming together. With their bodies intimate and glistening with sweat, they would separate for a short moment. If Sybil was on top, she would arch her back, something he wished he could see through his closed eyes as he threw his own head back. He could feel her though, with his thumbs resting on her hipbones, her body ringing in the aftershock of their shared orgasm.

He was good at this and she told him so often. He would kiss her, silencing her lips in mutual agreement. It was something he was all so happy to do, something he was glad they never had to negotiate around. It also worked to remind him that she had kissed him and since then it was always him, pushing and pulling and returning her kisses. She had him where she wanted him and if she had it her way, and it was rare for her not to, this was where he'd always be. This was honest and safe and quite beautiful for something that always seemed to be so fleeting. In dark rooms, he found her, much in the way someone would seek out light.

Every time one of them thought of stopping all this, the other would settle and breathe out gently against the expanse of skin separating a stunted smile and an earlobe, to kiss the space and remind the other just how much it all meant. Beyond the parties and gatherings, where family and gowns and impressions meant to much, the world they often delved into was so small. She craved it and him because he was nothing like her other world, her much bigger world where he was nothing but a secret. They didn't know him, she'd tell herself. And Sybil knew that she didn't want them to.

They didn't remember when it started. Or rather, they never spoke of it either way. It was almost as if discussing such a thing would cast light on the truth they preferred to remain in the shadows. It was a secret of this house, one kept the way all modern families seemed to: not displayed like crystal ware or antiques and other things meant to be talked upon at parties but instead hidden in the recesses, like a little box that each family member had their own key to.

She was young then, far too young to be doing such a thing with a boy like him or really any boy for that matter. She was fifteen then, and now, just a few months past her eighteenth birthday she was ready for new chapters of life to begin. Summer brought some of them, mostly the revelation she had discussed with herself late at night before bed; if it were up to her, her A-levels would mean nothing, and she would go to school in the states. Even that didn't matter though. Her father, she had guessed, could see past the location. It was the choice of profession that he would turn his nose down at, and her mother, always one to side with her father, would agree in the way a woman in her position only could.

Her father was every bit the bureaucrat he wanted her to someday be. After all, Sybil was bright and beautiful, and she would shine in London the same way her sister's had before her. Somehow, she was different though, like his last chance to get it all right. Her mother, never holding a job in her life, would cheer her daughter on as if faith in capabilities you didn't truly understand created success. Sybil knew better, and yet, she was learning, always one to seek a different opinion outside of this castle she grew up in and the flat they sometimes visited when they were in the city.

Instead of giving them her test results and her choice of school, she said nothing on the matter. Her silence was more comfort than any response she had planned to hear from them. Even she had yet to come to terms with the decision, it was one she felt she had made long ago, even if they had made it for her. The last bit was the hardest to swallow.

"That tickles," she whispered over her shoulder to where he hovered above her, drawing shapes on her exposed shoulder. "I have that party tonight," she reminded.

"Pity," he teased, kissing the skin he was just previously caressing.

"Please don't be like that."

"Like what?" They shared a long glance now, one she hoped would die but was kept constant by his hope. "Cocky? You don't like when I'm cocky?"

"Nevermind," she huffed.

He sighed. "Whatever." He was playing along now, and she knew that. It urged her to walk away from him, leaving him to stare at her naked backside. She wasn't teasing. She didn't care anymore. What happened was done and she was ready for the intense reverb of their lovemaking to fizzle, like the slow pull after a goodbye kiss. Only they had had many goodbye kisses, ones that made them both believe this would soon end.

It never did.

"I'm keeping this," she said, referring to the black v-neck she had recently stripped him of that now covered her naked body. Her words shut him up, practically asking him to join her somewhere else.

She modeled the shirt a bit, crossing one leg over the other. Sybil knew exactly what she was doing, and all was confirmed as she pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek before disappearing into the bathroom to shower. At the sound of the water running, he left, out her door quietly so that he would not be seen. He never was; people in this house chose to see what they wanted as if the world was a kaleidoscope just waiting for hues and fragments of light to catch their eye.

Sybil exited the shower and as she passed her vanity on the way into her bedroom she dropped the needle of her record player down. A cacophonous sound rang out, signaling the beginning of a song she had heard a million times. It was one of her favorites, on one of her favorite vinyls, and she could have sworn he had bought it for her.

His shirt no longer hugged her curves, but a short bathrobe did, as she began to towel dry her hair. Already she was feeling defeated by her wavy locks as she felt them air dry. Her hair was always like this, unable to be tamed and so very big. To school she would wear it down and to dance, she would keep it up, but neither styles were appropriate at the party her parent's were throwing downstairs. She settled on a messy braid, with pieces intentionally left out to frame her pale and stoic face. It fell at her shoulders where the strap of her red peplum dress hugged her midsection, the curve of her bottom, and her thighs.

As she walked down the long staircase leading into the main room of the house, Mary waved her over, most likely thanking the heavens for young company. Mary was her eldest sister. She married young, to a boy she had met at an event in London. That was nine years ago. Now at thirty, Mary was a mother and wife, two occupations she managed rather well.

Mary grew up not knowing what she wanted to do in the world. Having no other option, she was a socialite for a few years, but found the charity balls and the fundraising to be exhausting. When she met Matthew, he challenged her, and the two shared a rather intense three months of dating before announcing to the family that they were to be wed. Sybil remembered it well. She was nine herself, the same age Mary and Matthew's son Max would be turning next year.

Before she was even given a chance to ask, Mary offered a response: "They're around here somewhere. He was going to go trudging up the staircase but I told him he better not."

"And then I told him the virtues of being on time," Matthew piped in, walking closer to his wife and his sister-in-law.

"Hi, Matthew," Sybil said, embarrassed that people had noticed her lack of punctuality. She was so good at allowing Mary to be the champion horse in this family, she had lived her life wishing she could just disappear into the background.

"Where's Maximus?"

"Oh, darling, I do hate when you call him that."

"I'll stop calling Max by his nickname when you learn to call Tom by his first name," Sybil said, referring to her best friend.

She appeared serious to her sister. She didn't need an answer. Sybil knew her request would never be granted, just as she knew that her prim and proper sister secretly loved the way she was so comfortable with her son and chose to treat him like the child he was. Someone had to.

All was confirmed as Sybil beamed, lighting up as the young boy came barreling toward her. Edith was not too far behind, carrying her own champagne glass and what appeared to be a soda for their nephew. It was the only thing in the room not being served in fine crystal.

"Max!" Sybil yelped, feeling as her godson jumped into her arms for a hug. "You're getting so big!"

"You saw me last week at dinner, Aunt Sybil," he groaned in frustration as his aunt put him back down on the ground.

"Well have you grown? Surely you must have grown," she began. Mary eyed her, shaking her head slightly as her eyes widened. Max had always been a little bit tinier than the rest of the kids at school. Tom always assured the little boy that he would grow up and get taller to which the child would ask: "Like you?" and Tom, with his broad build and sly smile would reply: "Bigger."

"No," Max said, straightening out his little tuxedo jacket. "Mama said she might start me in karate lessons soon though! If I do really well on my next couple of violin lessons."

"Well I'm sure you'll do a lovely job. But should I be worried? Does this mean you'll be able to kick my butt now?"

Mary stifled a laugh as Matthew stepped in. He placed a loving hand to Max's head, bringing the boy back to lean into him. "Well Mary and I were hoping Max would use it as more of a sports activity, not a method of self defense."

Sybil was standing now, straightening out her own dress. "Of course," she said politely before exchanging mischievous smiles with her nephew.

Behind them still was Edith. She had passed off the can of soda to Max and was currently involved in a conversation with her boyfriend Anthony. Anthony Strallan and their father worked in London together. Edith had always had an affinity for older men, and shortly after Anthony and his wife divorced, Edith found herself falling quickly in love. Anthony's sons were the same age as Edith, but he seemed to be just as infatuated with the middle Crawley sister as she was with him. It wasn't what Sybil wanted, but, as her mother often reminded her, girls of eighteen were not expected to have plans unless those plans were made for them.

Sybil was happy for her sister, really. There was a mutual respect her and Edith shared for one another. It was always known how close Mary and Sybil were, but while Mary loathed her younger sister, Sybil simply felt sorry for her. At twenty five, Edith had successfully started up her own PR company and was now living in London with no plans to have children of her own. Mary didn't understand it, but Sybil assured her it was not her place to ask.

"Papa said you got your A-levels in the other night. Have you opened them?"

"No," Sybil lied. "I will though. I just want to wait. Tom-"

"Yes, where is Branson?" Matthew asked, looking around. "I saw him out on the way in but he looked busy."

"He was outside?" Sybil was curious, her mind drifting suddenly from the annoyance at her family's rejection of his actual name. It began with her father, and then trickled throughout the rest of the house, but he was Tom to her. Not too much of a stretch from the Tommy she knew growing up when his mother used to work in this very house. Her house, and his now too. No, he'd always be that boy to her, so young and full of spirit. Part of her believed him to still be that boy now, but only if he allowed her to be the girl she once was, with her hair tangled and her knees scraped but with a bright smile that made everyone else none the wiser.

"He must have just gotten in. His car was on," Matthew added, thinking nothing of it. He pulled his champagne glass away from his lips. "Or maybe he was leaving…"

"Well you know he hates these parties," Mary chimed in after allowing Max to escape to the library to play with his video games. "He hated them growing up and now that he doesn't even live here anymore we can't expect him to just show up. Besides, who would he talk to? He knows these people think nothing of him. If I were him I wouldn't want to come either."

"Mary, please don't kid," Sybil said, tugging at the lip of her dress pooling at her waist.

Mary touched a calming hand to Sybil's arm, causing her baby sister to look up. "Oh, I'm not kidding, darling! Tom's a free spirit. Like you, really." Her hand had traveled to her sister's chin, forcing the girl to look at her. Sybil was petite, like their mother, and Mary had quite a few inches on her. "I'm just saying that I know what it's like at these things. I don't want more children but I can't say the years when I was carrying Max weren't wonderful because I got to miss all of this."

"Oh, but you love it," Sybil said, her voice just as fake as her words.

"I do," Mary responded, sipping at her last bit of cocktail. "It gets tiring though."

Matthew disappeared to talk to the girls' father, Robert and just like that they were back, gossiping and laughing at one another in the way that sisters only can. "Who are we even supposed to be thanking, again?"

Mary dropped her head back to laugh. "I thought you knew!"

Sybil shook her head. "I just show up."

"Oh, Sybil…"

The young girl stopped. She touched a hand to her chest, then to her hair, wondering what had caused her sister's voice to drop so low. "What?"

"You're wearing trainers!" Mary pointed down to the ground where Sybil was in fact wearing a pair of classic white Chuck Taylor hightops. Her dress was Alexander McQueen, Sybil's favorite, but the shoes she wore were anything but designer, and their frayed laces and dirty soles spoke volumes for the woman she was becoming.

Sybil hated these parties much in the way Tom did, but they were a part of her now, and the gowns, while sometimes silly, fit her rather well. She loved the way she felt in them, and how they were often a change from the blue jeans and plush vintage jumpers she wore. Mary knew that Sybil rejected heels; as a dancer, she didn't have the posture for them, but the sneakers she wore accented her tanned gams and the way they were littered with bruises from her latest lesson. "Sybil, your legs...oh god," Mary whispered, pressing her fingertips to her forehead to create a veil she could hide behind.

Sybil could only laugh. "What?" She put her hand on her hip and bent one knee, much in the way she had done upstairs nearly an hour ago. "You don't like them?"

"Sybil, this isn't funny! The pictures they take at these parties are put in magazines and newspapers! Go change!"

The playful tone both sisters had from minutes ago died off. Matthew looked over, concerned, knowing that wrath all too well. "No," Sybil fired back, her teeth gritting.

"You are unbelievable."

"Let Papa see them. He can take the piss for all I care-"

"Sybil!" Mary's hushed tones silenced the room momentarily. As the two Crawley sisters noticed the shift of eyes, Mary continued, this time in a much more calm voice. "I'm sorry darling but this feud between you and Papa is getting out of hand. Whatever happened all those years ago, can we just drop it? I understand you don't want to talk about it but you have Mama worried and you know she loves you. We just want what is best for you, alright?"

Sybil sighed. She looked down, playing with her fingers where the manicure her mother had paid for was already beginning to chip as she picked and bit at her cuticles. "Fine," she muttered. "But I didn't wear the shoes just to upset him. They don't even notice me," Sybil said. Suddenly her words were honest and they hit Mary like a freight train gone off its tracks.

"Darling, they LOVE you," she emphasized. "I know it's been hard just you and them these past couple of years but you'll be leaving for uni soon and it will all change. Think about the parties you'll go to and the boys you'll meet-"

"I don't want to meet boys," Sybil commented all too quickly.

"Girls, then?" Mary teased, causing her sister's cheeks to burn red.

Sybil swatted at her sister. "You and Mama both think it is so funny that I don't have a boyfriend, but that is cruel!"

Mary laughed it off. "Well I'm sorry darling, I have the right to ask. You know, no boyfriend is one thing, but wearing trainers to a town social is an entirely different game…"

"I like being single," Sybil commented. "I like the freedom of it."

"You're scared," Mary said, walking toward where the rest of the crowd was going, into the dining room to eat.

"Scared of what?"

"Scared of ending up like them."

Mary didn't need to point for both of them to understand who "them" was referring to. Although Sybil knew far more than Mary did, the two girls often joked (only because it was easier) about how their parents were never truly in love. If they were once, they weren't anymore, and as young girls they both made promises to themselves and one another to always strive for better than their parents were when it came to relationships. Mary had happily kept up her end of the bargain, and Sybil knew, privately, that perhaps she had kept her promise, as well.

They were some of the last to filter into the dining room. Where their large oak table usually sat, now a few tables of six or eight dotted the room, with soft white linen table cloths and a full fifteen piece setting at each seat. The dinner, and the table she was placed at separated from Mary and the rest of the family, was fine. Since her debut party at thirteen, Sybil was expected to entertain the men that her father worked with, as well as their wives. She found conversation came much more easily to her than to either of her elder sisters. Never one to be outdone, Mary would wave the young girl off with a simple: "you're an old soul, darling."

It was only when they brought their sons and daughters, the same people Sybil had attended school with, that Sybil was made to feel out of place in her own home. She was outgoing and lively when she wanted to be, but at school she was rather reserved and quiet. Her and Tom kept to themselves, something he swore was his fault, as she accepted the comfort of the two of them facing the world together.

As one of her father's client's began to talk about the stock market over in America, Sybil thought of where he was now, and prayed he had not gone out or even worse, stayed in. She hoped, as was their plan, that he had gone up to her room with junk food in hand. It was a ritual they had started when she and he were first allowed to attend these parties. Tom's mother had been dead four years at that point, and he was still living in the main house with the rest of them. He was introduced at gatherings as their son. Everyone there knew the truth but chose to accept the lie, knowing such things were never truly talked about. Tom's mother worked as housekeeper of the Downton Estate after her husband died shortly after she gave birth to Tom. She was hardworking, and funny, and every bit what Sybil always wanted from her own mother. Sybil also knew that if she were here now, she'd be so proud of the man Tom was becoming.

After that first charity ball, Tom had snuck to Sybil's room carrying a six pack of soda and two bags of chips. She invited him in and refused to reject him each night thereafter. They'd sit on the pile of pillows she had beneath the large bay window that overlooked the gardens. As was typical of Sybil, she'd light incense and turn on music she swore was always the best. Looking back, the entire thing was silly, but they never gave up on it. The music was awful and the chips were always stale and the soda warm. The incense gave Tom a headache, and he didn't understand its purpose, but Sybil insisted it calmed her down, so he allowed it.

They were free spirits, but even a label like that felt suffocating. When Tom was sixteen, he stopped going to the parties, leaving Sybil alone. But he'd return to her at night, crossing from his room on the other side of the stairs to get to her. He was never gone for too long.

Now, with the party dying down, and the hired help downstairs cleaning up, she walked toward her room, hoping they never would give up this tradition. She pictured a much older version of her and Tom in a retirement community in London, with him still bringing her sweets she swore she shouldn't eat as she made him laugh, impersonating one of the many people at the party.

Cora had gone up after the last guests were sent on their way and now her father followed her. She watched as he went to the room next to her mother's, saying nothing but a simple "goodnight" to his youngest daughter. Sybil did not return the greeting, but instead opened her door quickly, if only so that she could sink against the wood on the other side.

"You look like hell."

The voice brought her eyes upward, to the figure laying on her bed, flipping through his cellphone.

Before she had wanted to cry, but now she could only laugh, seeing him so relaxed in a place where memories weighed on them like the secrets they wished they didn't have to keep.

Walking to Tom, she collapsed onto her bed, burying her face in her pillows. She groaned when she felt him smack her bum, urging her to sit up. She obliged, but only so she could snuggle into him and close her eyes. "Make it all go away," she whispered, her lips lazy as her chin rested on his stomach.

Tom jokingly moved his hand about as if to perform a spell. "Done," he said, rather confidently.

"You ass." Sybil pushed at his stomach, which allowed her to stand and walk to her closet. He watched her go, staring at her backside in that red dress. His eyes glanced down to the shoes on her feet.

"Trainers, Syb?"

Sybil stepped out from behind her closet door. She looked down to her feet almost as if she had forgotten about her footwear. Her smile couldn't hide the comfort and pride she clearly felt while wearing such daring shoes. "You like them?"

"What did your parents say?"

"Who cares?" She scoffed. The sneakers were off now, kicked into the large pile accumulating at the bottom of her closet. They'd be lost there, no doubt, only to be replaced next party by her favorite pair of motorcycle boots or studded oxfords.

She walked to him now, passing him in her mismatched bra and panty set. The bottom was red and white striped boyshorts and the top, a purple bra. He laughed, covering his eyes not because he hadn't seen her like this before, but because perhaps she was almost too comfortable in front of him. Surely most girls did not walk around like this in front of their male best friends. It was then that Tom was forced to remind himself that Sybil was not most girls. She was not even some girls. She was just Sybil, his Sybil, so kind and perfect.

"Do you like these?" She teased, shaking her bum in his direction.

"Sybil, honestly! One of these times your father or mother is going to walk in here and have me arrested."

"They would never," she began, crawling toward him in cotton sleep shorts and a light tank top. Her bra was discarded moments ago but he could only stare at her face and the way she cheesily smiled at him much the way a child would when prompted to. "Max was asking for you," she began, now sitting indian style perpendicular to where Tom was laying back against the headboard.

"How is Maximus?"

"Mary hates that we call him that," Sybil said matter of factly, her eyes looking down as she pulled at a thread of her bedspread.

"Mary doesn't like much that I do."

Now she looked up. "She does too! It's just different now. She's married. She wants Max to be some superhuman and he's just...Max," Sybil breathed out, dropping her hands down to her sides in exasperation.

"You mean like how you're just Sybil?" He was lifting her chin up so her gaze met his. Her eyes, sometimes grey and sometimes green, just seemed sad now. "I like that you're just Sybil...if it matters." She would have kissed him for such a compliment if the thought didn't terrify her the way all thoughts of Tom often did.

Instead, she smiled. "I love you, best friend."

Tom returned the smile, cupping the back of her neck so he could bring her forehead down and kiss it. Her face was on fire now, reveling in the heat his lips left on her skin.

"What's on the menu tonight?" Sybil inquired, looking around for where he hid the food.

Tom leaned over, grabbing for the bag he had stored under her bed. "I wanted to get beer but we both know you're a baby so I got you some hard cider…" he began, earning a swift punch to his shoulder as they both laughed his teasing off. "And then I got you these," he said pulling a bag of sour gummy worms out of his bag. "And these." The last item was a box of Sybil's favorite fresh baked biscuits from Waitrose.

"What did you get for yourself?"

"Just the beer."

Sybil shook her head, still smiling. "I'd comment but I know you'd just tease me for being so unhealthy."

Tom raised his hands near his head almost to surrender. "All I'm saying is that when you audition at Juilliard those judges are going to want to see a toned ass and a flat tummy."

"No, they want to see a good dancer, you pig." Sybil sighed, letting her shoulders drop. "And who says I'm auditioning at Juilliard?"

"I did."

"Tom-"

"You say you hate it, Syb, but I see through your bullshit. C'mon, alright?" He turned so that one of his feet was off the bed and the other was folded underneath him. "We'll talk to your parents together."

"I'm not going to school for dance. Art, maybe, but-"

He cut her off again. His eyes were so bright and full of the same dreams she had suppressed long ago. "No buts! I'm serious."

"Listen," she said, using a sour gummy worm to point at Tom. The other half was in her mouth and Sybil did her best to chew it before continuing. "I danced the way all little girls dance. But it's not a profession. It's just...it's fun. It's something to do," she finished. Ignoring his glance she had begun to reach for the biscuit box, inspecting the contents: freshly baked double chocolate fudge cookies.

"No, no, no." Tom said, suddenly getting angry that she was denying this. "C'mon Syb, even when you move around this house you're dancing. And you used to give my mom heart attacks, using the bannisters on the stairs as your very own bar to flip and cartwheel down. Do you remember? You never lost that. The other girls did but not you. You fucking love it. You were born to do this."

He sounded so sure, but even words coming from her best friend with such weight and urging meant little. "I can't…"

"Because your parents started you in it all and you don't want to prove them right?" He dropped his hands to his sides out of frustration. "Are you really that stubborn?"

Sybil gave him a look that made them both laugh.

"Syb, I'm serious. Law school? Are you kidding? You're smart, hell, but law school? You'll die. That's not you. You're better than that. Do what you love, Syb..."

She wanted to ask him how he knew that wasn't her, but she already knew the answer: he knew everything about her, from the large freckles that played themselves out like a constellation on her right arm to the way she would listen to James Taylor when she was sad.

"I'll think about it," she said. She wasn't giving up, or giving in. She just didn't want to discuss it anymore. Such honesty was rare, and she was inexperienced at speaking such truths. Sybil had little to learn from growing up at Downton.

"And what about you?" she asked, wanting to turn the tables on him. "I know you got perfect scores on all of your A-levels. I saw the papers…"

"So what if I did?"

"Do you still not want to go to uni?"

Tom shook his head. "It's not for me." And it wasn't. She knew that, but she also knew how hard her father would take it, as if somehow his decision to reject a formal education was a personal blow to all Robert had done for Tom growing up.

For the past few months, Tom had been emailing a writer in London, Hunter Allen. He was the best, known for his strategically biting political writings, attacking any and all fraud and scandal threatening to take down Parliament. As Tom had told her nearly a year ago, he "wanted in" and was set on scoring an internship with the writer right out of high school. So far, he heard nothing, but remained persistent, even going as far as to invite himself to Allen's London office.

The conversation died, and the bag of gummy worms were nearly empty. "Any good movies on?" She asked, leaning over him to grab the remote control that stood in its cubby on her bedside table. As she did so, he grabbed her midsection, holding her up, so she could rest comfortably down beside him again. When she did, he joined her, both of them leaning against the headboard as Sybil found the movie channel. She clicked through the selections before settling on a movie Tom could have sworn they had watched before.

She was laying on his chest now, her hands gripping his abdomen as she looked forward to where her TV hung on the wall. They were about fifteen minutes into the movie when Sybil finally spoke up. "Oh yeah, we have seen this one." It earned an eye roll from Tom but he said nothing as he clicked the television off. He reached to turn off the light on her nightstand as Sybil scooted upward only so she could pull the covers down and then back up again.

This was her favorite part of their promise, and his too. They wouldn't sleep immediately, their eyes instead adjusting to the dark as they sought each other out so their faces were mere inches apart. They'd talk like this, with his arm draped over her back as she laid with her hands underneath the pillow her head rested on. "Tell me a story, Tom."

"A story?"

"Well you want to be a writer, don't you?"

"I want to write about Politics, Syb…"

"Okay, then tell me a political story."

"A political story?" Tom chuckled. "What do you want tonight? War? Genocide? Poverty?"

Sybil laughed too. "It can't all be that bad...tell me about the suffragettes before the war."

"Which one?"

"We had the right to vote by the time the second war started, so that would be the first," she quipped sassily even as sleep began to take her.

It caused him to laugh as his hand smoothed back her hair on the pillow. "What do you want to know?"

Sybil was drifting off now. Her eyes was closed, but her mouth moved on, producing lazy words he was sure would drop off soon. When they finally did, his story ended and after moments of watching her to make sure she was completely asleep, he allowed the darkness to kiss his eyelids as well.

He was often restless, never able to sleep the way Sybil could. But on nights like these, he found sleep easily, and welcomed the comfort found in his best friend's bed. He had been here many times before, but each time felt so brand new. He wondered if it was a sign for him to cherish these moments. In the fall he was sure she would be in New York and with any luck he'd be interning in London. Maybe they'd be in love or maybe they'd be like this forever; falling asleep next to one another because it was easier than admitting to the truths that danced so fervently around their heads.

* * *

I will not begin posting to this again until I am finished with _On The Other Side_. I promise I'm not being cruel, I just owe that story the time it deserves before we dive into this one. Also, I like a little suspense!

If you feel so compelled, please add this story to your favorites so that when I do begin to post regularly, you are notified.

Thanks for reading! I can't wait to hear what you all have to say.

x. Elle


	2. What I'm Trying To Say

**A/N:** Well, my lovely readers, _On The Other Side_ is finished (*tears*) and as promised, I will now begin posting this regularly. By regularly, I mean once a week - Wednesdays. Why? Yes, I have this all plotted out and yes, I am a few chapters ahead in writing, but this won't be the case once my show begins. At least Wednesdays will be a good day of the week? Hopefully?

As I said to many of you when I replied to your reviews, it is normal to be confused by this story. It's okay; Sybil is confused too! But like I said, I have every single chapter of this storyboarded out. I have known long before I started writing this, who the mystery boy is, and why he is the mystery boy and so forth. So please trust me as this continues because little by little all will be revealed. I promise it, whoever he is, will all be worth it in the end.

* * *

"You look so good in the shoes of an outcast  
I kissed your throat every time they said it wouldn't last  
But then I knew you, I knew you, I knew you  
I really knew you  
I am trying to say  
What I want to say  
Without having to say  
'I love you…'"  
_What I'm Trying To Say_ - Stars

* * *

As far as Sybil was concerned, Tom had been working his entire life, or at least that's what she teased him about when he'd miss dinners and leave her to face the wrath of her parents alone. It got especially bad after Edith moved out, but that was also around the same time Sybil realized she was jealous of her best friend and not angry at him. He worked and he worked hard, not because he had to, for Robert and Cora paid for anything he ever needed, but because he wanted to. He liked the idea that the money he spent was his money, and he especially enjoyed the exhausted feeling that often pushed him into bed after a long day of both school and work.

His first job was the local paper route, and Sybil remembered hearing him leave his room well before the sun had risen each morning to deliver papers to their town and the next town over. He was ten then and kept that job until he was thirteen, much to Robert's chagrin. Then, he began as a shop boy for the mechanic downtown. At first it was sweeping the floor, grabbing a wrench or opening and closing the garage but then, by the time he was fifteen, Tom found himself coming home late after nights spent working on engines just as tired as he always seemed to be.

He worked at that same mechanic shop, but only twice a week and on weekends. It was Sybil who encouraged him to slow down and actually enjoy their last two years of schooling. Now, it was Tom's turn to tease, calling her a princess for never holding a job a day in her life. They'd laugh it off and call such a statement a joke, but Tom knew that his words lit a fire underneath his best friend. She didn't want to be her mother, or even Mary, lost and without direction. However, upon realizing that she was not them and had already made up her mind about dancing, the path she choose terrified her because in reality, she had not chosen it at all. Her parents had chosen it for her, and after years of hard work and time, her heart chose to love it and now, her heart was not allowing her to make any other choices until she fully committed to this one.

But that job, and all the others that came before it, the ones Sybil teased him about, and Robert and Cora insisted he didn't need, bought him his car. It was just a black 1969 Ford Mustang when Tom bought it, but by the time he was finished, it was fully restored, with a new paint job and full throttle engine. It was fast and loud and Sybil loved that she and Tom no longer had to be driven to school. Robert rolled his eyes, hating the way Tom drove her around almost as much as he hated that the car was American. He said the white stripe down the middle was flashy and insisted that he keep the car in the back garage, and not out front with his and Cora's car.

When it was time for Sybil to turn seventeen, Robert asked her what kind of car she wanted, and then held his breath, waiting for her to go on about something small and environmentally friendly. What she said instead was that she had no intentions of getting her license anytime soon and that she'd much prefer for Tom to drive her where she needed to go.

Tom's car had become quite the symbol around town. Since the kids Tom and Sybil went to school with drove luxury sports cars, they liked how different they looked pulling into the lot each morning with some obscure alternative band thumping quietly out of the speakers. Despite what her father said, Sybil didn't believe the car to be flashy, or unsafe. Actually, she felt quite secure in it, and she was proud of Tom for saving the money to not only buy it, but to also bring it to its current state. While people gawked and glared at them, they both knew they were secretly admiring the work the Irish boy had put into it, and then when that was finished, they marveled at the beautiful girl always attached to his hip.

Sybil Crawley was a spectacle in her own right. She was different than her sisters, but just as beautiful. She had an infectious laugh, but the only one who could ever produce it out of her was Tom. She dressed differently than the rest of the girls at school and cared about different things like politics and books. She was a good girl, but she was often in trouble, usually for speaking her mind or wearing the wrong shoes to school. The boys wanted her, but the girls hated her for being so sweet, and then held onto that notion when they realized how fascinating she was to the rest of the school.

When it was time for her and Tom to enter sixth form, everyone began to joke that they weren't sure how the two of them would manage it, both taking such different classes. Tom took five, and they were the five he'd keep into the second year. Sybil also started with five, but dropped down to four by the start of the following year. Tom, taking things like History and Politics, and Sybil with Law and Dance. When she found her workload to be to much to continue all subjects, in the confines of Tom's apartment above the garage, she cried. He held her and assured her that this was normal, and that she should just drop a class before the start of their final year. She said she would drop Dance, but Tom laughed, and Sybil grew mad. With a kiss to the forehead, he made her promise not to drop Dance.

A week later, Sybil withdrew from her English Literature class.

"What is this?"

Tom looked up and smiled, still leaning on the bike in front of him. It was a Triumph Speed Twin, but to Sybil, his newest project.

"Where did you get this?" She walked past him with her gym bag still slung over her shoulder. Mondays and Wednesdays were dance days, and just like the paper route's he used to take, he'd watch her leave early each morning to head to the studio. She's return around now, a little after four, looking tired and sweaty, with her hair up and frizzy. He told her once that she looked pretty like this, so natural, but she laughed at him and brushed the comment off.

She had put her bag down on the hood of his car, earning her a look. She was too wrapped up in the motorcycle standing before her to notice and she ran an exasperated hand along her forehead, smoothing back any fly away hairs that had escaped her head band when she was spinning around the dance studio. Again she offered a "what?" her voice growing more hoarse the longer he took to respond.

"They were going to junk it," Tom began, watching as Sybil ran a finger up and down the spine of the bike. It was old, and the muffler on the back was eroded with rust. The seat was a soft leather, but the plush cushion beneath was peeking out where the seam was coming apart. She picked at it, then stopped, laughing as Tom watched her add to its ruin. "Must you?"

"Oh please!" Sybil said, standing back to hoist herself up onto his workbench. "You're going to have to take that entire thing apart."

"Are you a mechanic now?"

"No, but my best friend is. I've watched him fix a car or two in my day."

She was teasing, and he willingly played along. When she was fourteen and very bored she asked Tom if she could come to work with him. His initial response was "no", but a few months later, when he was asked to open the shop on his own to get extra work done, he invited her along. This was another ritual they had. They didn't talk as much there, but she watched him, his forearms specifically, as they stretched and pulled at the nuts and bolts inside of an old minivan. Sometimes she'd do homework and sometimes she'd read, but when it was time to go, she'd jump down from the step stool in the corner and follow him out. She'd watch him lock up, pulling the chain that brought the garage door down. When it finally hit the gravel below, she'd smile up at him, and then begin asking questions about the parts he had replaced or how much certain things cost. He swore she didn't care, but each time she seemed more and more involved, and sometimes, when he least expected it, she'd repeat something back to him he had said during an earlier visit, like a little reminder to let him know she was really listening.

"This isn't a car, Syb. This is a whole different beast."

"Have we named it yet?"

Tom's shoulders dropped. He stared down, passing a dirty rag from hand to hand, doing his best to rid his skin of the grease. He looked back up at her only to see that she was smiling, too. "You know I don't name my machines."

"You're so weird!"

Tom ignored her and walked to the back of the garage to wash his hands. "How was class?"

Sybil shrugged. "Fine."

He was standing next to her now leaning against the workbench. "Just fine?" he teased.

"I don't know. She never has much to say anymore. I don't get criticisms, but I don't get praise anymore either. It's like she's afraid of what my reaction will be if she says the wrong thing."

"Has she ever said the wrong thing?"

Sybil searched his face. "No, not really."

Tom threw down the towel he was using to dry his hands behind where Sybil was sitting. "She's not complimenting you because she's sick of seeing you waste your talent. What she wants to know is if you've received your A-level results yet and where you plan on going. She is afraid of your response, you're right," he pointed out.

Sybil reached behind her to grab something from her bag. She returned, holding a business envelope. Tom had received one similar to it a few months ago. Feeling the urge, he grabbed it from her, holding it in his hands and then immediately turning it over. "Cool, let's open it."

"I don't care what they say."

"Why? Because you've already applied to Juilliard and gotten in?"

"I haven't opened that letter either," Sybil admitted. She bit her lip and looked down to the gravel below. When she returned her gaze to him, he gave her a look that she swore could knock her right off his workbench. "Don't look at me like that, you ass!"

Tom only continued to smirk, his fingers itching to reveal the contents of the envelope. "So can I?"

Sybil slumped forward, resting her chin in the palm of her hand. "Go ahead," she murmured.

Slowly, Tom opened the envelope. He retrieved the folded up paper within and smoothed them out, his eyes immediately scanning the black ink staining the page. He said nothing, and his face was even more quiet, showing no sign of any emotion. "You failed," he stated flatly, passing the paperwork to Sybil.

Her eyes widened and her body stiffened, but as she looked at the paper, she saw that she didn't fail. In fact, she was quite far from failing, and suddenly she wished that wasn't true. She received an A in both Dance and Law with the rest of her subjects receiving Bs. To fail at Law was one thing. It would be easy to dismiss then. But she wasn't bad at it, she was really quite good. She just found herself bored by the case law and the memorization.

Sybil jumped down and began swatting at her best friend with her results still in hand. "You're a true prat, Tom Branson!" He tried to block her shots, but it just ended in the two of them laughing as they both feigned anger.

"Did you honestly think you would fail? I helped you study!" he offered as proof.

"I stopped caring!" Sybil admitted in return. "We can't all be like you, Tom."

Tom laughed. "I'm lazy. I barely studied."

Sybil raised an eyebrow and tipped her head to him, causing him to let out another chuckle. "You're full of yourself."

"Never," he teased back.

A certain silence settled over them. Sybil began to play with her cuticles and Tom watched her, staring at the way the tiny hairs near her ears curled out from beneath her elastic headband. "You have to tell them," he said, interrupting her own thoughts. Sybil looked up at him, her face blank, her mouth saying nothing. "I'll help you. Tonight," he added, referring to their usual Monday dinners with the entire family.

"Maybe I'll just leave in the fall. Just pack my bags and tell them I'm going to New York."

"The shock would kill them," Tom managed quickly. "If you don't tell them, I will."

Sybil furrowed her brows. A look of discontent spread across her features as she studied his face for any signs of falter. There were none, so she spoke up, finding her own words to indecisive. "I'll tell Papa about you not going to college. And the fact that you don't have a job yet."

Tom shook his head. "I will have a job, though."

Sybil forced a small smile, suddenly feeling bad for insulting him like that. In a way she was jealous of Tom and his ability to be so sure about his future. He was right, he would have a job, and she was almost positive it would be with Hunter Allen. "You will."

"Syb?"

"Yeah?"

He stepped into her. "Open your Juilliard letter, okay?"

With her eyes fixed on the ground she couldn't dare look at him. He knew too much and felt too much all the while leaving her to feel all too little. But these were the choices they made, and like her unopened Juilliard letter, they'd remain, sealed away, never to be opened and read aloud.

Sybil jumped down from the workbench and grabbed her bag from where she had dropped it by Tom's new motorcycle. "I need to shower."

Tom watched her, wondering what it was she really wanted to say. "Me too," he agreed, even without a concrete explanation. He continued to let his own gaze fall upon her. She was smiling now, holding onto the strap of her gym bag as she kicked at the ground below. Sybil looked over her shoulder to let out a scoff that she hoped he couldn't see. "I'll see you at dinner, then?"

He didn't say anything. He watched her go, practically giving her permission. The smile she put on his face stayed long after she was headed back to the house, etched even when he stepped into the shower, the same blush she had held in his presence, creeping up his back to paint his neck a deep crimson.

~!~

For Tom's sixteenth birthday, Sybil spent a considerable amount of her own money on a watch she had designed for him. Everyday after that, he wore it, enjoying how the shiny silver accented his usually rolled up sleeves and also gave him the time.

It was a watch much like the one she saw all the men at her father's parties wear, but it was more modern looking with electric functions and one simple dial. She had spent three months researching the layout, and then, in the way that some men do when picking out a wedding ring for their girlfriend's, she visited a jeweler and showed him her planned design. Sybil later relayed to Tom how stunned the old jeweler in town seemed when a woman walked in with a drawing and a budget sheet listing preferred capacities and a cost range. He complied, though, and was happy to work with the daughter of one of his oldest clients.

Every weekend after that, and all of the days leading up to Tom's birthday, Sybil visited the jeweler's shop to chart his progress. When it was finally time to give the gift to Tom, she did it so proudly Tom was almost worried she had fallen more in love with a gift than he ever could. But he did love it, and he still wore it, not just because of the time and commitment she had put into it, but because he genuinely loved the piece.

Before heading to the big house, Tom checked his watch. As usual, he was running a bit early. When Carson met him at the door, he nodded at the butler the way he always did and then allowed the elderly gentleman watch him ascend the stairs, two at a time until he reached the top. Immediately, he turned right, passing his old room before finally hitting the end of the hall where Sybil's bedroom was.

He didn't knock, but maybe he should have. Behind her large white door, Sybil was walking around in underwear and a tank top, searching her closet for something to wear. He saw that she didn't have a bra on, but she rarely did. Sybil was always commenting to Tom (as if it was a secret) that she had lovely breasts and didn't find the need to wear a bra outside of ballet until she was at least twenty-five. She was always tasteful, hiding behind tight camisoles or lace bandeaus. Tom wasn't staring now the way most boys did, but he also wouldn't deny that his best friend had a point.

When she heard him walk in she walked out from behind her closet and past him toward her bathroom. "You should knock," she stated plainly.

"Did I interrupt something?" he asked, sticking his tongue in his cheek.

Sybil didn't respond. Instead, she stuck her own tongue out at him, a habit she had picked up when they were very young. It caused him to laugh and then she joined him, walking into the bathroom then back out again when she had changed into a dress she had found at the back of her closet. "Is this okay?"

Tom leaned back on her bed with his own jean covered legs crossed over one another out in front of him on the floor. "Why do you ask me that? You look fine. It's just dinner." He paused as she walked back toward the bathroom. She sat down at her vanity and pulled her wet hair out of it's messy bun atop her head. Tom watched her wavy tressed fall down her back, always paired with a look of discontent from Sybil. "Wear it down," he commented, and she smiled, practically agreeing that she would.

He watched her braid her hair along her hairline, letting the rest of it increase in size as it dried to a chaotic frizz. "Why does Carson always give me that look when I come up here?"

With her hair done and a little bit of mascara on her eyes, Sybil turned to Tom, ready to face the weekly family meal. "He's Carson. He gives everyone that look."

"Do you have boys up here often?"

"Only on Tuesdays."

"Right…" Tom said, causing them both to laugh. "But I used to live here."

"And I still do," Sybil reminded. "I think he's just entertained by us. I mean, I would be. Wouldn't you?"

Tom stood and began walking around Sybil's room, looking at the things he had seen so many times before. There were pictures of them on the shelves lining her walls. Also pictures of Sybil with Mary and Edith, and one that always made Tom smile of Sybil wearing a lavender tutu and a gap-toothed smile, wrapping an arm around each of her parents with a large gold medal hanging around her neck. That was the oldest, and while the rest of these photos were usually updated and replaced, that one remained; a look into the past Sybil had told him she would rather forget. He'd never tell her this but he knew if that was true, the photograph would be taken out, ripped up, and tossed away. Instead, it sat, collecting dust on a shelf in her childhood bedroom.

"You opened it?" Tom was Sybil's dresser now where next to her record player lay her opened Juilliard letter.

"I told you I would," she responded as if such a statement would easily make him drop the subject. Of course it didn't, and Tom continued to pester, immediately congratulating her on her acceptance. "I wrote them back already. Right after I opened it. They thought I hadn't received the letter so that's why they still kept my spot open."

"They kept your spot open because they want you. Just like the National Ballet wanted you and then the Russian Ballet before that…"

"Okay," Sybil said, grabbing the letter out of Tom's hands. "I opened it and I told them I would go. Isn't that what you wanted? Can you stop badgering me now?"

Tom let his shoulder's slump. "I'm not badgering, Syb! I swear! You know I think you're so talented and I know dancing make you happy. I just want you to follow your dreams. If I don't tell you to, who will?"

Sybil sat on the edge of her bed and slipped her feet into a pair of brown leather oxfords. "You're right," she managed, not meeting his gaze. "You ready?"

They walked downstairs, finding themselves quickly lost in a conversation on the state of parliament. At the bottom, Carson was taking Mary, Matthew and Max's coats. The two teens smiled at the family before all of them filtered into the dining room.

Robert and Cora were waiting, standing at each head of the table. They all sat together, then Carson took his time asking each guest what they'd like to drink. As he poured their requests, the family began to talk.

"Matthew, how was work?" Robert asked, taking up his usual role of starting the conversation. He was sure that if he never spoke up, the family would enjoy the meal in silence.

"Good. We were just contracted out to take on the Silverman Case," Matthew said, referring to a family will dispute being covered in all the local papers. "It should be fine. But I'll be working on that for the next couple of months."

"And you Mary?" Cora asked, finally deciding enough of her meal was finished for her to enter into conversation.

Mary dropped her fork and looked up. She smiled and then wiped at her mouth with her napkin as she swallowed the bit of food still in her mouth. "You know me, Mama, between Max and my weekend charity work, I don't have time for much else."

"Are you and Matthew thinking about maybe taking this time to add to the family?"

"Mother!" Sybil spat, setting her flute of ice tea back down on the table. "Is that your place?"

"Well, I am a grandmother. Isn't it?"

Mary smiled at Sybil. "She's fine. But no. I told you, we're done with all of that."

"Well I'm not getting married," Sybil said. The comment made sense to her, and when Tom heard it, he immediately cracked a smile, one he hid behind as he sipped at his glass of water. Everyone else simply shrugged it off, thinking that a girl as young as Sybil couldn't possibly have all of that figured out yet. She had never even had a boyfriend before.

"You know," Cora began, poking at her salad, before finally looking up. "Mrs. Eaton said that she saw you with a boy in town yesterday morning. And that you two looked awfully cozy."

"Cozy?" Sybil rolled her eyes. Again, Tom laughed. "Really, mother, since when are any of these things appropriate dinner conversation?"

"Was it Jonathan Ashford?" Tom stopped laughing, and both he and Sybil looked to Mary. She smiled before sipping at her glass of wine. "Well is it? I know he's sweet on you. He always has been."

Sybil looked across the table to Tom. He was waiting for an answer in the same way Mary was, and suddenly she didn't know if she could give it to him, or her. "No," she whispered, still staring at him, as he gave the same exact thing back to her. "It was nobody. I wasn't even in town...she, uh, she must have seen someone else."

"Oh thank god, that boy is so full of himself."

They broke their gaze and the conversation continued, bouncing from Max's schoolwork then briefly to politics. When that threatened an argument, they all welcomed silence, taking the chance to finish their meals. As dinner ended, Carson began clearing the plates.

"Sybil got into Juilliard," Tom said plainly, looking directly to Robert, then to Cora. They said nothing, but both immediately looked to Sybil, her face painted a bright pink.

"The plot thickens," Matthew commented, causing Mary to shoot him daggers. Still, even she leaned in, waiting to see where all of this was headed. Max was oblivious as his two parents shared looks across the table, but he sipped at his chocolate milk, finding this information exciting as the rest of the family seemed to.

"Is that true, Sybil?"

She finally looked up. "It is," she stated plainly.

"Why didn't you tell us, dear?"

"I, uh, I didn't know if I wanted to go."

"And do you?"

Tom finished his glass of water. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. "She accepted their offer this morning. Right Syb?"

"Tom," she whispered. Suddenly she needed him, but not like this. She thought back to the garage and how he had told her this would happen but how he had also promised he would be there to help her through this. The pit in her stomach accompanied by the cocky smirk on his face made her doubt his earlier words.

"That's great, isn't it?" Tom said, finally causing Sybil to look at him. Before she wasn't sure if she wanted to cry, but now, such a thought seemed like a comfort with the rest of her family, even him, staring at her.

"Sybil, what about Cambridge? You've wanted to go there since you were a little girl."

"No, you wanted me to go there!" She was yelling, or at least her voice was raised, but she didn't move to allow her actions to echo that volume. She was just as she was when Tom first revealed her secret, sitting on both of her hands, staring down at the deep mustard colored tablecloth.

"Sybil, your father is only trying to help."

"Dance is not a profession, darling. What do you plan to do with a degree in that? If we had known you wanted this we should have just sent you off to the circus when all of those companies used to write to you."

"Joining the National Ballet is nothing like the circus, Papa!"

Tom smiled. Dare he say there was something alluring about the way she was standing up to her parents? He was waiting for this confrontation for months and while he was sorry he had to push her to this, he was happy to see that when she was finally here, she was every bit the woman he knew her to be.

"So you're going? To New York?" Cora asked. "In the fall?" she asked, almost as if even when Sybil responded her mother still wouldn't be able to comprehend this.

"I want to," she whispered, looking to Tom. He softened and smiled at her, causing her to force the same thing back.

Sybil sipped at the last of her ice tea. Still holding her flute, she leaned back much in the way Tom had before. With a raised eyebrow and a sweet smile, she ruined the silence. "Well, Tom's not going to uni."

"Syb!"

"What? I thought this was the deal. You reveal my secrets, I reveal yours."

"Your plans for college aren't a secret," he leaned forward and spat.

Sybil rolled her eyes. "Not now, they're not. You're right."

"Tom, is this true?"

"He could go anywhere, I mean, we all know how much Oxford wants him, but he doesn't want to go. Right Tom?"

"Sybil, I was going to tell them all of this after I talked to Mr. Allen."

"Who is this Mr. Allen, Tom?" Robert asked.

"Hunter Allen"

Matthew perked up. "The journalist? You know him?"

"He is nearly impossible to get ahold of," Mary added. "How did you manage that?"

"I don't have the job-"

"Yet," Sybil added. She couldn't possibly manage to be as biting as he was when revealing all for her. She wanted to be, but she didn't have it in her, and the more she saw her family's reactions, the more she realized just how proud of Tom she was.

"Well if that's true, you'll have a job for life," Robert said. "But we'll discuss this later." He went to sip at his ale but stopped himself, pulling the cup away from his lips. "The both of you."

Sybil sunk back in her chair and rolled her eyes, something that earned her a comment from her mother on how ladies are supposed to act at the table. By then, all their glasses were empty and Carson announced that tea and coffee were ready to be served in the drawing room. The family thanked them, all standing up to walk out of this room and into the next, like patrons walking from exhibit to exhibit in a museum.

On the way down the hall, Max jumped on Tom's back. Tom happily accepted the child's company, as it sent the two of them into the drawing room first where Tom dropped the child onto the couch. If they weren't all laughing with Max, Sybil was sure she would have heard a comment from Mary or her father about the proper use of the couch or about how little boys shouldn't have their feet on the sofa.

The boys sat on one couch with the girls sitting on the other. Robert sat in an armchair creating the separation, and Cora leaned into him, the two quickly filling time with hushed thoughts on their daughter's new announcement.

Taking advantage of this opportunity, Mary leaned in to Sybil. She pressed a hand to her sister's arm, pulling her gaze and the smile she wore along with it away from where Tom and Matthew were sitting with Max. The two boys looked lost in conversation, but every so often Tom would turn his attention to Max and ask the boy about school and sports. Max would beam up at Tom, clearly idolizing him, and ask about his car. This particular thing is what created and kept the smile on Sybil's face.

It was Matthew that helped Tom finance his car, and fully supported the boy in renovating it. Both Sybil and Mary were sure their father would have leant Tom the money if he asked, but with Matthew, he didn't need to. After almost ten years of knowing Mary, Matthew had been in this family almost as long as Tom had. Maybe not in the same way, but nonetheless the boys, now men, had become like brothers.

"Sybil, darling," Mary said, now applying pressure to where she touched Sybil's arm.

This caused Sybil to look over finally. "What? Sorry…"

"Is there a boy?"

Sybil let her shoulder's drop as if to say all the things she would soon relay to her sister. "What? No…"

"Why is that such a ridiculous thing, Sybil? I had a boyfriend at your age. Hell, I had two."

Sybil chuckled. "And I'm not you."

"I know that. I'm just saying. You're a gorgeous girl and you're smart and funny. I don't want you to look back at these years and think you've wasted this body-"

"Mary, honestly!" Sybil dropped her hands down, doing anything at this point to hide the obvious blush spreading up her neck into her cheeks. Sybil was close with Mary, but there were some things even she didn't know. "Boys don't even look at me…"

"Sybil," Mary said causing her sister to look up. "If you think boys don't look at you it's because you're always with Tom. Maybe if you two separated for even a minute you'd see that boys absolutely look at you."

"Okay…" Sybil let out a sigh. "Mary?"

Her sister turned her attention back to her sister, hearing a different tone coat her usually stressed voice. "What is it darling?"

"This is going to sound so odd…" Sybil thought about the scare she had last week and the pain she felt in her chest as she began to think what she would do with a baby at eighteen. They had always been so careful until now. "I want to start on birth control…"

Mary's eyes widened. "Mama hasn't put you on it yet?"

"Well no! Why would she? Did she put you on it?"

Mary pressed a delicate hand to her neckline, her fingers immediately reaching for her necklace to play with. "Oh god no. I had to ask her for it. I begged. I think it embarrassed her, but I swore she'd put you and Edith on it after that…"

"Well she hasn't."

"She honestly lives in the stone ages," Mary said, rolling her eyes. "But why do you need it? If there is no boy, I mean…"

"I asked Miss Ellie," Sybil said, referring to the director of her dance studio, "about regularity. With my weight I'm very irregular and she said that the pill might help."

Mary sighed. "I'll go to the doctor with you, but I'm sure Mama will eventually find out."

"Okay."

"I don't understand why you won't just ask her if that's all it is. It's normal for dancers to have menstrual issues, really. She'd understand. Hell, I went on the pill at sixteen because I was having sex and wanted it before I went away to school. That terrified her. This is purely health related, my darling."

Sybil breathed out, releasing all the worry she originally had when she first thought about how she'd approach her sister. But of course Mary understood; she always did. "Thank you."

"Sybil, you can talk to me about anything, you know that right?"

Sybil looked back to her sister, averting her glance once again from where Matthew was urging Max to tell Tom about the new bike he had received. When the information was out, Tom congratulated the child with a high five before revealing that he too had a new bike.

Sybil smiled at Mary. "I know."

~!~

Her parents called after her, but Sybil ignored them as she ran up the stairs toward her bedroom. At the top she shouted a simple "goodnight" to Carson before disappearing into her room. Immediately, she kicked off her shoes and stepped out of her dress. She covered her chest as she reached for her robe. Next, she tied up her hair and then plopped down on her bed, waiting for him to call.

A smile spread across her face as she saw his number fill her screen. His ringtone accompanied it and she listened to the chorus of the song before picking up his call. "Took you long enough."

"You're in bed already?" he asked. "I was sure I was early."

"I would have called you back," she offered.

"You fell asleep on me last night so I wasn't sure."

"I wish I fell asleep on you," Sybil said, clearly flirting.

"That's not fair…"

Sybil feigned innocence. "Oh, but isn't it?" Sybil breathed out, playing with her dry cuticles. She reached for some lotion from her side table and began to massage it into her hands, then up and down her legs as she held her cellphone to her ear with the help of her shoulder. "Mary said she'd help us."

"What?"

"Well she doesn't know it's helping us. But she said she'd go with me this week. I'm going to call and make an appointment."

"Shouldn't I go with you?" he asked.

Sybil laughed. "Why? I can't bring myself to the gynecologist?"

"Well apparently not if you had to ask your sister…"

"Okay, that's not fair."

"Listen, I know how scared you were last week. I'm just saying that you didn't put yourself in that position. I did."

"With your magical dick, yes," Sybil said rather flatly causing them both to laugh. "I'm not actually pregnant. It's not like I'm getting an abortion. It's just the pill. We'll go, they'll explain it to me, I'll start taking it and then you can come over and we can make sure it works."

He sighed, rubbing at his exhausted eyes. "I just want you to know I care."

She sighed too, suddenly feeling bad again. He was so good at this lately. "I know you care, alright? Please don't say that as if it's a reminder. Three years of this, I know you care. You always have…"

"Well if you did want me to go, I would."

Sybil thought back to earlier that night and all the things she had said about him, the lies she had told, possibly to distract herself from the truly wonderful time they had in the village the day before getting breakfast before they both had to go to class. "I called you nobody tonight. I'm sorry."

"What?"

"My mom asked about a boy and I told her there was none...that you were a nobody."

"Am I a nobody, Sybil?"

"You know the answer to that." A beat and then: "I apologized, didn't I?"

"Whoa. You brought this up. I didn't seem to have an opinion about it either way."

"Come over?" It was clear she didn't want to talk about it anymore and he was happy to let her get away with this and so many other things tonight. Normally he'd correct her, and remind her of who she was, but not now, as he imagined what she must look like sitting in her bed without him. She could be this version of herself if that's what she wanted.

Sybil bit her lip as she waited for his answer.

"So soon after dinner? I don't know if that's our best idea."

"Do we ever really have good ideas to even qualify this one as our best?" Sybil sighed. "And I told you to stop acting like you knew how things worked here. You know how I feel about that."

The boy on the line sighed. "Right." There was silence on the line, filled with white noise and the harmony of their breathing. "You should come here."

Sybil raised an eye, considering the option. "We haven't done that in awhile."

He sat forward on his bed. "So will you?"

Sybil laid back against her pillows. "I can't. I'm sleepy," she yawned. "Plus, I don't have a ride."

The boy on the line just shook his head and laughed. "You're lazy," he sighed. "You really need to get your license."

"You need to stop telling me what to do," she quipped, earning her a smile she was sure he was wearing as well. "Call me tomorrow?"

"Yeah. Of course."

They both hung up. Sybil got out of bed and rummaged through her armoire to find the shirt she was looking for. It was his, the same black v-neck he had left here two weeks ago before she sent him on his way so she could attend her family's dinner party. Sybil smiled as the soft cotton touched her stomach the way she wished he would. It reminded her of how much she had missed him lately, especially like this, holding her as they fell asleep. When the morning came, she'd usually push him out of her bed, insisting he had to leave before her mother came in, but Sybil knew that she had locked the door the night before, and it terrified her that if she asked him to stay, he would.

* * *

Thanks for reading. Still confused? Good. Feel free to leave me a review and we can chat about it!

x. Elle


	3. A Beautiful Mess

**A/N:** After some "suggestions" (ya'll are persistent and you know who you are!) I've changed my schedule a bit. I really did try to stand strong but I feel bad with this story being so suspenseful and my beta agreed to edit as quickly as possible so beginning next week I'll post every Monday and Friday. Is this better? I hope that's better.

* * *

"Your style is quite selective,  
though your mind is rather reckless.  
Well I guess it just suggests  
that this is just what happiness is.  
Hey, what a beautiful mess this is.  
It's like picking up trash in dresses.  
Well, it kind of hurts when the kind of words you write  
Kind of turn themselves into knives  
And don't mind my nerve, you could call it fiction  
But I like being submerged in your contradictions, dear  
'Cause here we are…"  
_A Beautiful Mess_ - Jason Mraz

* * *

It was always fascinating to Sybil how quickly the train brought her into London - just a few songs on the shuffle setting of her iPod or ten pages of her latest quick read brought her away from the countryside where her family's estate resided, into a metropolis she always found herself being pulled to. When the train would arrive she always found herself looking up, her eyes never quite being able to acclimate to the institutional lighting of the station. Directly from there, she'd walk a few blocks to where Mary and Matthew lived in a rather lavish three story home.

Mary always said she hated the area, that it was a bit too commercial for her taste, but it was close to Matthew's office and Max's school, so she made it work. Sybil would never mention this to her, but she knew that Mary also loved the privilege and respect she received because of her address. Their garage fit two cars instead of the typical space for one and there was a coffee shop on the corner where Mary would meet other mothers from Max's school to discuss ice cream socials and field trips to museums downtown.

Mary spent her days before Max was born, decorating the inside of her home to look like a more modern version of their childhood home. Large window treatments dressed the windows overlooking the street below. The bottoms of the curtains pooled on the floor, looking just as much like art as the expensive paintings Mary had bought at auction to line the walls leading out from the foyer into the rest of the house. Dark oaks and smooth metal lines brought everything together, with Victorian patterned tapestries covering the sofas, as well as large chairs in the dining room.

It was not what Sybil would have wanted, but she did love coming to visit and she adored that Mary and Matthew always made her feel welcome. Sometimes after dance, she'd seek refuge in her favorite part of the apartment, the terrace on the rooftop, with its lounge chairs and beautiful view of the entire city. Such a space gave her room to think, especially late at night, when the city was whispering instead of yelling.

As Sybil entered the home with the key she had been given years ago, she took off her leather jacket and hung it in the closet by the door. Mary and Matthew did not have a butler, but they had a cook, and a maid that came three times a week to tidy the house. They would have had an au pair too, if it weren't for Max himself being so averse to the idea. The child much preferred when Sybil came over, and she didn't mind it; the closer she got to being an adult the more she liked to remember just how easy it was to be a kid.

Mary descended the stairs, wrapping a light cashmere scarf around her shoulders. She wore a floor length dress and her short hair was curled back away from her face. There were diamonds too, ones that caught the light of the chandelier above, projecting refracted shapes onto the wall above the door.

"Sybil, love, does this scarf look alright with the beading on this dress?"

Sybil nodded. "You look divine."

Mary feigned appreciation by touching a dainty hand to her exposed neck. "Darling, you are too kind."

The two sisters laughed as Mary reached the bottom of the stairs, taking Sybil in. There was such contrast here, between the ripped stockings that covered Sybil's legs to the short black skirt she wore over the top of them. Sybil's hair was braided, and strands of it were falling out, lazily framing her face and the nape of her neck.

They heard the television in the adjacent living room turn off, and Matthew emerged, wearing a tux to compliment the dress his wife wore. Mary smiled at him, pulling him in close. "Sybil, what are those shoes, darling?"

Sybil smiled, looking down to her feet. "Doc Martens."

Mary rolled her eyes. "Dreadful."

Matthew took Sybil in as well. "The skirt is a bit short…" Matthew began.

Now Sybil was smiling for a different reason. As she lifted her skirt to show Matthew the opaque tight shorts she wore underneath, she thought of how she had never had a brother before him. Edith and Mary always referred to Tom as a brother, but with Sybil and Tom, it was much different. Matthew was very much a brother figure, and Sybil and him often found themselves treating each other like the siblings they had grown to be, with him commenting on her outfits and she punching him in the shoulder whenever he made a teasing remark.

"Sybil!"

All three adults in the foyer looked to the top of the stairs where an enthused Max stood with his Wii controller still in his hand. His eyes were bright and his hair mussed atop his head. The child began to descend the stairs. "Where's Tom?"

Mary and Matthew looked to Sybil, also wanting an answer. The teen put a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She had straightened it that morning before dance but she felt it already beginning to revert to its natural state even from within its braid. "He should be getting out of work in about an hour. He'll head over after, alright bud?"

Max nodded and ran back upstairs toward his room. Before he shut his door, he shouted a quick "bye!" to both of his parents. He was still young, but Mary often told her mother how she felt him growing up much too quickly: "Almost nine and already an old soul," she would lament. Mary just wanted him to remain a boy for as long as possible.

"Max wanted Tom to come over," Sybil began to explain. "I mean, really, I'm just here for looks. You all should call him up next time you need a babysitter."

"No, we shouldn't," Mary said, walking for the door. Sybil stood back to let her sister and Matthew pass. They had essentially switched places, making it look as if the room had been tilted on its axis. "Because if Tom is still working we would be late for the opera." Mary smiled at Sybil and received something similar back from her sister.

"Where is he working tonight anyway?"

"One of the clients at the garage needed a spare driver for an event on the other side of the river…"

"You know, why does he accept these odd jobs? Papa…"

"Because he likes to work?" Sybil said, offering up her words as if their were no others found to be suitable. Sybil was taken aback, maybe even offended. For as close as she and Mary were, they disagreed about many fundamentals in life. "He likes making money and paying for things. He's entirely independent. You know he never liked when Papa used to give us money to go out. That's not Tom."

"I'm just saying he needn't work so hard. He's eighteen. Life goes by quickly..."

"No, you're saying you think the work he does is cheap."

"Oh, Sybil please don't start with me," Mary said breathing out rather loudly. "I love Tom I just know he's smart and he needn't be so proud. I do wish that Hunter Allen fellow would just hire him. Tom would put him out of a job, you know."

"He is very smart," Matthew added.

Sybil raised her eyebrows to let them know their opinions were heard. Her eyes remained fixed though, staring down to where her hands were clasped together. She agreed, but she wouldn't tell them that. To open up her mouth would only be to elaborate on things they didn't care to hear, at least not right now. Tom was smart. Hell, he was brilliant, Sybil thought. It was more than that though, and while Sybil understood the rest of her family would never truly get his work ethic, it was one of the things she had always loved about him.

"Okay. I left you guys money for takeout. There's plenty for Tom there too so order him something so he can eat when he gets out of work. You can get Max what he wants but please make sure he has a glass of milk with his dinner. There's wine in the fridge as I assume you and Tom will be staying here tonight. His bed time is ten because it's Friday, but please, no later, alright?"

Sybil nodded. She also kissed the cheek Mary had presented to her. "Go! Go!" Sybil said, brightening up. "You'll miss curtain."

Mary and Matthew shuffled out the door and down the steps to where their car was waiting.

Sybil headed for the stairs, scampering quickly up them. At the top, she walked straight for Max's room. Inside, the child was jumping back and forth, swinging his arm to make the tennis racket on the screen hit the ball flying toward his character.

Sybil stood at the doorframe and watched him, letting her tired body rest against the cold wood. She reached back and fixed the loosening pins in her hair, smiling as Max continued to jump around leaving her completely unnoticed.

In one fell swoop, she scurried toward him and began tickling the child's sides. Max yelped, and quickly turned around, giggling as he gave in to his aunt's fingers moving up and down his sides. They were on the floor now, Max still giggling with Sybil joining in. The screen behind them showed Max's score, causing him to stand up and turn the game off.

"Sorry, bud," Sybil managed, seeing he had lost.

He merely shrugged, placing the Wii remote back in its charger on the entertainment stand. "Mum said I was on my Xbox too much so I had to play this. Now I'm just trying to beat her high score…"

Sybil laughed. "Your mum does not have a high score on this!"

Max nodded. "She does! Her and Dad play it after I go to bed!" Sybil laughed even more loudly, picturing her sister and her sister's husband playing a game on this console. "Mum really likes Dance Dance Revolution, too!" Now Sybil snorted. At the sound of it, she covered her mouth and Max joined her in laughing. "I swear they do!"

Sybil dropped her hand down, rolling her lips over themselves to keep another laugh from bubbling out. "I believe you."

"Did they leave money?"

"Of course they left money. They always leave money. What do you want?"

Max didn't answer. Instead, he took off running, down the stairs and toward the kitchen. Sybil smiled at his energetic nature and followed him downstairs. When she walked in, he was already kneeling at one of the stools at the island, going through the box of takeout menus his parents kept in the pantry. Sybil walked over to him, leaning forward to watch him rifle. He came back with a menu it was clear he had been looking for, and held it above his head rather triumphantly.

"Chinese? Max, we always get chinese…"

"Because mum says it's salty and it's not healthy," he whined. "You're the only one who lets me to get chinese."

Sybil nodded and took the menu from her nephew. "Okay, what do you want?"

"Wait, can I call?"

"Yes, you can call!" Sybil responded, her words pushed out by another laugh. Somehow this boy seemed to be the perfect mix of both his mother and father, having his father's excitement and his mother's need to always be in control. "I'm going to write down all of our orders and then you can just read it off the paper. What do you want?"

Both Sybil and Max picked out their meals, and Sybil wrote down what Tom always got. She handed the post-it note and the phone to Max and watched as he enthusiastically dialed the number, put in their order, and gave the woman on the other line their address. When he hung up, Max put the phone back on the receiver and walked back to the island to sit down.

"Who's that?"

Sybil looked up from her cellphone. "Who's who?"

Max nodded toward her phone. "Who are you talking to?"

"Tom," Sybil smiled. "He's getting out of work soon."

"I like Tom," Max stated simply. The boy then looked up to gauge Sybil's reaction. She was still smiling but doing her best to avoid his gaze now. "Do you like Tom?" he asked, emphasizing the word 'you'.

Sybil was still smiling, but her mouth had opened now, and quicker than she or Max had expected, she was shaking her head, as if to tell the boy 'no'. Words of a similar tone came out, as it was now Sybil's turn to search Max's face for answers.

She avoided his glance, walking to the fridge to grab the milk so she could pour it in the glass she had retrieved for him. "Why do you even ask that?" she asked, peeking out from behind the french door of the refrigerator. She raised an eyebrow, causing Max to giggle and seemingly forget the question and the top it was provoked by altogether.

Max looked down to the glass of milk Sybil was pouring him. "I don't know. He's your best friend, right?"

Sybil nodded. "Right. My best friend…" Her voice trailed off, giving Sybil time to push the glass of milk toward Max. "If you drink this before our food gets here I'll give you a small can of soda for dinner…"

Quickly, the child grabbed for the glass and began chugging. Sybil brought a palm up to her mouth to keep her laughs from escaping. "Slow down!" she urged. "You're going to get a stomach ache then I won't give you the soda, you weirdo."

Max obliged, putting the now half-full glass back on the counter. "So you don't like Tom?"

"No!" Sybil said, now brushing the question off as if it were the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard. But she knew, maybe as well as Max did, that there were far more unordinary things brought up in their family. "Do you have a girlfriend?" Sybil teased, sipping at the glass of wine she had just poured herself.

Max shook his head. "I'm eight!"

"And I'm eighteen! I only have ten years on you."

"Does this mean I'll be single when I'm eighteen too?"

Sybil dropped her shoulders. "Cheap shot, dude."

"Well I think you and Tom would be good together," he said, clearly trying to get a smile out of his aunt. Such a reaction was elicited, but only momentarily.

"Stop worrying about stuff like that! You're a child. You're supposed to be worrying about..." Sybil paused to think. "You're not supposed to be worrying about anything!"

Max sipped at his glass of milk and then rested his head on his hand. "Can I have ice cream after dinner?"

Sybil beamed. "There you go!"

Max and Sybil moved to the kitchen table and had begun to read the daily comics from that morning's paper. Sybil indulged him and kneeled on the seat of the kitchen chair just as he did to get a better view of the colored cartoons. Inwardly she laughed thinking of how Mary and Matthew would scold the both of them for sitting in such a way but Sybil ignored this thought when she saw just how carefree the practice seemed to Max.

Behind them, Tom walked in, carrying a large bag of chinese take-out. Sybil walked toward him with the money, but he quickly told her to put it away because he had already paid. "What do you mean you already paid? I told you Mary and Matthew left us money."

Tom looked at her incredulously. "Yeah, and I ran into the guy at the door and paid him. It was like twenty quid. It's fine. Just leave their money on the counter, alright?"

Sybil nodded and went to walk away but he kissed her forehead before she was able to do so. All thoughts of money and food vanished as she found herself reeling from such a small action. "Max, where are you going with those?" Sybil asked, referring to the plates he had gotten from the cabinet below.

Max turned back to Tom and Sybil. "We ate in the living room last time…" he reminded with pleading eyes.

Tom laughed. "Yeah, and you almost spilled spaghetti sauce on your mum's carpet."

Max stopped. "I promise not to this time!"

Sybil looked to Tom, then back to the child. She sighed. "Alright, but I swear, if your mum finds out…"

Max had already walked out of the kitchen and down the hall toward the living room. Tom was busy pushing past Sybil to retrieve silverware from the drawer she was blocking. She sighed and gave in, quickly following both of her boys into the living room.

Inside, Max was already at the entertainment center, finding something to put on television. He settled on a cartoon program, and then scurried back to join Tom and Sybil at the coffee table, where Sybil was unloading the bag of food and giving everyone what they had ordered.

They began to eat, with Max on the floor in front of the table and Sybil and Tom leaning into it, sitting on two armchairs. As they ate, Sybil and Tom talked about Tom's day at work and the dance class she helped teach after her own. She told Tom about how all the girls at just thirteen and fourteen were so amazed by her and yet she found herself jealous of them, just dancing because they wanted to.

"How was your day, Max?"

He shrugged, unable to take his eyes off the television. "Okay."

Tom looked to Sybil and then back to Max, a smirk written across his lips. "Just okay? Did you learn anything?"

Max swallowed his mouthful of rice and turned to face Tom and Sybil. "I guess," he stated. "It was a computer lab day so we got to play games."

"Games?" Sybil asked. "What kind of games?"

Max sighed. He was exhausted that he always had so much to explain to the people he was led to believe had all the answers. "Computer games. But you have to pass the tests before you can play the games."

"Did you pass the tests?"

"Duh!" Max groaned before returning his attention to the television screen. Sybil and Tom exchanged a look and then began to laugh, all of which went unnoticed by the child on the carpet.

After dinner, Sybil stayed downstairs to clean up while the boys headed upstairs to play a video game or two. As Sybil thanked a God above for no spills on the carpet, she could have sworn she heard Max asking Tom the same questions she was probed with earlier. He handled them far better than she ever had. He was always better at dealing with them than she was. Sybil never had the words or the time to devote to it all.

For a bit, Sybil found herself curled up on the couch behind Tom and Max, reading a book while they played some sports video game. Every so often she would look over and smile at the way Tom nudged at Max for cheating, always inciting a soft argument between the two boys. Even with the two feet Tom had on the boy, they looked like they could have been brothers, at least in the way they interacted. As it got closer and closer to bedtime, Sybil was almost sorry she had to tell Max to shower so he could go to bed. But the child willingly accepted, thanking Tom the way he always did for playing games with him.

When Max was clean and dry and in his pajamas, Sybil popped in a movie and set a sleep timer, so the way she spoiled her nephew would go unnoticed by his parents. Both her and Tom tucked him in, and then shut the lights of the room off, leaving him in darkness to sleep.

They slowly walked downstairs, Sybil looking back and smiling quickly at Tom. In the kitchen, she refilled her own glass of wine and grabbed him a bottle of Matthew's beer from the fridge. He willingly accepted the gift, cracking the bottle down on the granite to send the top flying off. Like a warning, Sybil's eyes widened at his action, but all was forgotten as he grabbed for her hand and dragged her to where she desperately wanted to be.

The terrace was up a back staircase that led eventually to where Matthew's home office resided. A sliding glass door protected the sterility of his desk and leather chair from the beauty of a summer night in the heart of London.

Tom dropped Sybil's hand only to close the glass door behind them. She was already walking to the edge of the terrace to look out over the sky scape. Tom let her be, enjoying his view just as much as she enjoyed hers. He liked the skirt she wore, and the way the blouse she had tucked into it was beginning to wrinkle after a full day's wear - had he told her that yet?

He thanked that they were no longer in school where hoards of boys would surely tell Sybil everything he was too scared to. They'd comment on her legs and her hair and the way she always smelled so nicely, as if her body was an object. When Tom finally found the courage to give her his own opinion, he did his best not to objectify her, and he was sure he succeeded as a silence took over them, giving her time to decide whether she'd just smile or kiss his cheek in appreciation.

She walked to the wide lounge chair and laid back on one side, giving Tom just enough room on the other side to accept the invitation the space she had left him was offering.

They laid like this, on a bed of outdoor furniture, staring up at the sky, imagining the stars that would exist there had things like smog and rain clouds not taken their place. Finally, Sybil turned to Tom, using hands like those folded in prayer as a pillow beneath her head.

"Can I ask you something?"

Tom looked at her, not wanting to respond but instead feeling the need to ask why she would even think a question like that necessary. He nodded, then returned his attention to the sky as he waited for her inquiry.

"Do I keep you from having a girlfriend?"

He looked to her now, searching her eyes and the pursed lips she wore for a deeper meaning than any her words had revealed. "What?"

"Well do I?"

"No. English girls don't like that I'm Irish and lower class. Those things matter."

"I like those things," Sybil assured him. "They matter to me, too."

The more Tom thought about it, the more he was hesitant in accepting her words. They sounded genuine and she seemed sure, but he was doubtful, the way he always was when it came to the things he wanted to believe. It was different than actually believing them, and he often found himself wondering if someday it would all be much easier to differentiate what he needed to feel from what was actually said and wanted between the two of them.

"If I wanted a girlfriend I could have a girlfriend," he reminded.

Sybil looked to the sky and nodded. "Of course." Those words were honest and biting. He was right and Sybil knew it all too well. Tom could have a girlfriend if he wanted to. Did he want to?

"Why don't you have a boyfriend?"

"Boys don't-"

Tom shot her a look. "Don't even finish that sentence."

"Mary said-"

"Please don't finish that sentence either," Tom said, avoiding her gaze.

Sybil breathed out, a whisper overshadowed by a steady exhale. "Okay." An inhale and then: "But you would tell me if you thought I was getting in the way, right?"

Tom sighed. "Yes, I would tell you. But I never will because you'll never get in the way. You get that right?"

"I guess."

"You guess?"

"I don't know."

"I do."

They said nothing and slowly the moment was gone. When they had officially accepted its absence, they moved on, almost as if it didn't even exist in the first place. Both teens took their time, commenting on the stars above but speaking more on how when it was time for Autumn to come, they'd be separated with Sybil in New York and Tom hopefully working in this very city.

As their drinks were emptied, they silently decided to head back downstairs. The house below was just as they had left it, dark and quiet, with no signs of Mary and Matthew returning home anytime soon. Like the take-out and the video games, they continued their babysitting routine, and wandered up to one of the guest bedrooms upstairs.

It was where Mary and Matthew found them when they arrived home hours later. Just as they had peeked in on their son, they found Tom and Sybil fast asleep, beneath the soft covers of a grey duvet.

Matthew noticed their respective articles of clothing littering each side of the bed, the same bed where they met in the middle, Sybil on her stomach holding the arm Tom draped over her.

"I'm waking her up."

Mary looked over her shoulder and shot her husband a look. "You are doing no such thing. They are sleeping," she emphasized.

"In the same bed? There's always the couch. Or, I don't know, one of the other bedrooms..."

"They're best friends. They used to bathe together as children."

"Sybil is not a child anymore," Matthew reminded, doing his best to stay calm.

"No, she's not. But I am not embarrassing her. Now, come on, before I make you sleep on the couch." Matthew obliged, and the door to the room where Sybil and Tom slept was soon shut, leaving both teens to continue dreaming.

Mary and Matthew continued to their bedroom and got ready for bed in silence. A rather loud yawn came from Matthew as he pulled back the covers on his side of the bed. This earned him a light tap to the stomach from Mary as she snuggled in next to him. He grabbed for his phone from the bedside table and set an alarm for the morning. While he did this, Mary applied lotion to her arms and forearms and then to her neck.

"I don't know why you're so protective of Sybil. It's just Tom."

Matthew looked to his wife. "Why does that earn an eye-roll? What does that even mean, 'it's just Tom'?", he asked repeating his wife's words back to her. "He's a boy," Matthew explained. And then: "I was a boy once."

Mary shot her husband a dark glance. "I'm beginning to think you still are."

"Ha Ha," Matthew joked. "I'm just saying that Sybil has always been like a little sister and while I feel the same way about Tom, I don't fancy them being so close."

"What are you saying? They're both so mature, Matthew. You don't get it."

Matthew raised an eyebrow and Mary laughed. Even as this all occurred, Mary had closed her bottle of cream and snuggled further into her husband. "I do get it. And I know they're mature, love. I just don't want Max thinking it's okay to sleep in the same bed as his best friend."

"Max doesn't have any friends," Mary reminded, causing the two parents to share a look that quieted and stilled the room. "Besides, he absolutely adores them. If it bothers you that much, I'll tell her to stop it. I'll even tell her and Tom to talk it over with Max." Mary paused and looked up and Matthew. "But I'm telling you he doesn't even notice."

"He does notice. He's a smart boy."

Mary continued to look up. "Sybil and Tom are smart too. Give them some credit, will you?"

Matthew looked down at Mary and gave her the same look she had been giving him all night. "You're not serious," he began.

Mary stiffed and sat up, using their plush mattress as leverage to sit back away from her husband. "I am serious," she defended. "Sybil's eighteen. If she wants to wear a skirt, let the girl wear a skirt!"

"So a short skirt is acceptable but ugly shoes are not?"

Mary pursed her lips. "Did you see those things?"

Matthew chuckled and crossed his arms over his chest. "She cares what you say. She'll never admit it but she looks up to you. I'm allowed to kid with her over the length of her skirt and she'll forget it but she'll never wear those boots again."

"Yes, she will!" Mary waved off. "Tom bought her those hideous things a year ago for her birthday and I've held my tongue this long."

"Tom bought them?"

"Well I'm sure he thinks they're awful too but I'm sure she said she liked them and he, being the boy he is, remembered. It's a very Tom thing to do."

Matthew paused. "You don't find them odd? At all?"

"I've found them odd since they were children. I told you, they used to bathe together."

"That's normal," Matthew defended.

"Well whose side are you on? I thought-"

"I'm not on a side. I'm just saying their relationship is odd, is all."

"They're friends, Matthew. Just leave it. You're taking this big brother role too far. I'm not even going to entertain the idea you're having. I wouldn't insult Sybil by doing that."

"Mary that is an awful thing to say! You all should be so lucky to have Sybil be with a guy like Tom."

"That," Mary emphasized, pointing at Matthew almost as if to scold him, "is not what I was saying. Tom is a great guy. Sybil has just said again and again that they are just friends. And Tom only reiterates this. To doubt that would be to call my sister and Tom, for that matter, a liar and I refuse to do such a thing." A silence settled over them. Mary stopped inspecting her fingernails, signaled by the way she dropped them down onto the silk comforter they laid beneath. "And if we should be so lucky, why are you freaking out about him being in her bed?"

"You're right!" Matthew settled.

"No, Matthew, you're just tired."

"I am," Matthew agreed. "Who cares what they do?" he added, still trying to convince himself, and now Mary that he didn't care and was done with this conversation.

"You do, apparently," Mary whispered under her breath. Matthew sighed rather loudly and kissed her cheek. She smiled and pulled him back to her, pressing a rather passionate kiss to his lips. "Don't give me that after the night we've had," she said with a raised eyebrow.

Matthew cocked his head as well and leaned in again to kiss his wife - properly, this time. She backed away and they both smiled. The noise of their slight laughter filled the room until their lips met once again, slowly drifting off into something much more passionate the longer they allowed it to continue.

* * *

Thanks for reading! Reviews are greatly appreciated!

x. Elle


	4. Guilty As Charged

"Guilty as charged, you were on my mind  
Try as I might I can't seem to lie  
I can love you back if you like  
I can hold you back if you like  
And so I go back home to be by myself  
I try everything I've ever read  
Desperate, I still can't get you out of my head  
Because you're on my mind  
All the time..."  
_Guilty As Charged_ - Tegan and Sara

* * *

"You have to pick one!"

"Why? I told you. I can't choose between Mila Kunis and Emma Stone. I'd pick them both."

"That's polygamy."

"You're right," Tom sighed, laughing too. "Because I can't decide between two equally funny and talented and very beautiful women, I must be a polygamist."

Sybil smirked. "It's the only explanation," she began, letting out a little laugh. "Plus, those two have absolutely nothing in common. They don't look anything alike and they both have had substantially different careers."

"Okay, fine. If you had to pick someone to play me in a movie, who would it be?"

"Ryan Gosling or Andrew Garfield."

"If you chose Andrew Garfield we would have the best chemistry," Tom quipped causing Sybil to flash him a sly smile. "But seriously, you have to pick one."

"No, I do not," Sybil stated strongly causing Tom to chuckle. "You chose two," she pointed out. "Here," Sybil said, her voice changing its tune, "when someone approaches us just needing an answer to this question, depending on who you pick, that'll help me choose who I pick. So if you pick Mila, I'll pick Ryan and if you pick Emma-"

"You'll choose Andrew," Tom said, finishing her sentence for her. "Good thing we have this figured out for when this actually happens."

Sybil pushed at his shoulder as the two burst into laughter. They were walking down main street of the village toward their favorite cafe. Their conversations along the way echoed the one they were currently having, usually having something to do with useless information they both swore they'd never need, but were happy to have regardless.

Outside of the cafe, a boy both Sybil and Tom knew was sitting at a table on the patio. Jonathan Ashford and Sybil were both well known for their high placement in their sixth form law classes, among other things, like their wealthy parents and large childhood homes.

"Want to go inside and get me my usual? I just want to talk to Jonathan really quickly."

Tom looked to Jonathan, who had already set his eyes on Sybil, ignoring Tom's presence completely. He took her in the way Tom usually would, but he let his eyes linger on her exposed arms and the way her sundress blew in the afternoon wind. Tom nodded, but only because he didn't ever want her to think he thought he had the power to say no to her and control who she talked to. "Of course."

Sybil smiled. "Thanks."

Tom walked away, toward the door ahead so that Sybil could walk over toward Jonathan. As he got in line inside the coffee shop, he took out his phone, and began swiping through it, all the while his eyes trained on his best friend and the way the boy she was talking to stood dangerously close to her now that he had gotten up from his seat at the table.

To distract himself, he checked his email, a habit he had lately as he got more and more anxious about his job prospects with Hunter Allen. It used to be something that would distract him, but now it just served as a reminder of the life he hadn't yet obtained. It was so close though, and every time he swiped down on his account and waited for new mail to load, he hoped that one of the downloaded letters would be one from Mr. Allen, offering him a job.

Looking up again, he was just as disappointed to find he had not received any mail, much less an offer of employment, as he was to see that Jonathan was sitting on the edge of the patio table with Sybil practically standing between his legs.

When he blinked, he saw that she wasn't that close, but another step in and she could have been. They were laughing now, and he wondered what they were talking about. His mind wandered back to the conversation they had on the walk over, and how such simply stupid things made her laugh. Tom hoped that Jonathan was actually trying, the way he never seemed to have to with Sybil.

"Tom? Can I help you?" The girl at the counter asked. Tom knew her from school, and although he couldn't remember her name, he remembered that she had started working here a few weeks ago. He stepped forward and apologized for not paying attention.

He ordered their drinks, a hot black coffee for him, and a fruity tea for Sybil. As the girl at the counter handed him both, he paid her, and then set an extra dollar in the tip jar, hoping that would suffice for his otherwise cold behavior. With his eyes back on Sybil and Jonathan, he walked to the condiment bar and counted to eight as he poured honey into Sybil's tea. He then put the lid back on the steaming liquid and walked outside, both drinks in hand.

Outside, he stepped in to Sybil and Jonathan. Sybil reached for her drink which he was already handing to her. She smiled, pressing the lid of the cup to her lips to test the temperature. Feeling the heat rise, she gave up, promising to return when the drink was warm instead of hot.

"Syb, you okay?" Tom asked, not looking at her, but with eyes trained on Jonathan. The boy stood up, walking so that he was closer to Tom. He stared back, both he and Tom forgetting in the way that boys do that the reason there was tension, the girl standing between them, was even still here on the same sidewalk.

"I'm fine," she assured. Her shoulders dropped, and she stepped closer into Tom. She wasn't necessarily stating her allegiance, but she felt a pull here, if only to calm her best friend down.

Tom and Jonathan never got along. In year ten, Jonathan made a comment, if only to impress his friends, about Tom's mother. It may have impressed his friends, but Sybil was not impressed, not even with Tom as he swung at Jonathan, sending the much skinnier kid to the ground. He was out for a week after that, sent home with a tutor on suspension. Sybil came home every day after school, filling him in on how Jonathan had spent most of his days teasing her in her best friend's absence. Only she didn't say those things exactly. It was up to Tom to connect the dots and conclude that Jonathan was quite infatuated with Sybil. When he shared this with her, she laughed it off, concentrating on placing a stray curl behind her ear so she didn't have to let her eyes fall upon his.

Jonathan had filled out since then, and although he was still a bit less built than Tom, he was just as tall. He no longer had glasses, and if Sybil was honest with herself, in agreement with what most of the other girls at school always said, he was attractive.

"We were just talking. Is she your girl?"

Tom looked to Sybil then back to Jonathan. "No."

"I know," Jonathan said, turning back to Sybil.

Tom stepped forward again, doing his best to allow his words to separate the distance Jonathan had just claimed between himself and Sybil. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Jonathan smiled again. Just as Mary said, he was unbelievably cocky, a thought that made Tom scoff. He balled his fists in an attempt to calm himself down. He was brought back to a time when he was much more immature, swinging at a boy that wanted nothing more than to see him suspended. They were kids then, and even with both boys now adults, ready to take high paying positions in the real world, Sybil watched them both return to their juvenile states, the same ones that found them into a fight on the floor of the school dining hall. Then, Jonathan didn't stand a chance, and while Sybil knew that if such a thing were to break out again, Tom would win, she worried for the injuries he would sustain as Jonathan at least tried this time to fight back.

"Don't worry about it," Jonathan said. He turned to Sybil again, almost as if he was going to start up the conversation they had ended when Tom came back outside.

Tom wondered again what it was that had her laughing so hard before. "I do worry about it."

Jonathan stepped into Tom again. He knew it before, but now it was clear that this, whatever it was, was never truly settled. "I just think she's smarter than that, is all."

"Jonathan, you don't—" Sybil tried. She did her best to defend herself but it was clear neither of them had any intention on letting her get a word in. But this was about her, that much was clear, evident by the way they blocked her out, making this all about them. Such selfish children, she thought.

"Shut up, Ashford. I swear to Christ. You don't even know her…" A failed attempt, but Sybil forced a smile, one she later accepted as she sipped at her warm tea. It coated her throat and its sweetness reminded her of how kind Tom could be and how this person in front of her had grown cold, almost unrecognizable.

"But I do, right Syb?"

"Don't call her that," Tom spat.

Sybil suddenly felt like less than herself, hearing that name fall from his lips. "Please don't call me that," she whispered, hoping he understood.

If he was bolder, Jonathan would have grabbed for her hand and pulled her close, but he let her be, understanding that unlike most girls, Sybil wouldn't tolerate him in the way that he wanted.

Tom balled his fist, and went to lunge forward, but he saw and felt the way her eyes burned into him, pleading him not to. He dropped his hand, and rubbed at his jeans, as if to wipe away the anger there. "Fuck this," Tom shouted over his shoulder, leaving Jonathan and Sybil behind.

"I'll see you around," she offered, quickly running after her best friend. He had already made good time and was several shops ahead of her. She continued to run until she finally caught up to him, wondering how it was that she didn't spill any of her tea on her hand.

"Tom!"

"What?" He snapped around, almost colliding face first into her.

"Tom Branson, don't you dare talk to me like that. What the hell was that?"

Tom shrugged. "That kid is a prick, Syb…" His free hand was up in the arm, gesturing back toward the cafe where they had left Jonathan. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, mussing it up toward the sky, something that made Sybil crack a smile. "What?" he asked again, doing his best to calm his voice down.

Tight lipped, Sybil smirked and shook her head. "Nothing." She inhaled, and crossed her arms over one another. "He's not that bad, you know…"

It was Tom's turn to shake his head. This time out of disbelief, and not amusement. Though part of him did want to laugh, if only to lighten the mood. "You always see the best in people. It's your downfall, really."

"My downfall?" Sybil asked. She had heard many things about herself over the years but not one had she heard her ability to see the good in others as a negative thing. In fact, it was what most people found to be so great about her and if she remembered correctly, it was Tom who started this trend and continued to tell her this even after she began to believe it. "Most people find it to be a virtue," Sybil offered with a smile. She hoped he could tell she was teasing, practically begging him to smile back at her so they could leave this all behind them.

"Yeah, whatever," Tom spat, beginning to walk away again. He was soon stopped by her words, and when he turned back to her, he found more distance between them than he could recall putting there on his own. Had she started to walk away as well?

"Not whatever, Tom! What was that back there? Listen," she said, stepping into him, "I get that you boys feel this need to assert authority over one another, but I would hope that as my best friend you know better than to use me as a pawn in that game. What he said was out of line and he doesn't know me the way he thinks he does, but I am more than capable of standing up for myself."

Tom sighed. "You're right."

"I don't want to be right! I want you to grow up. I will never forget what he said to you all those years ago and if I could, I would smack him right across the face but I have decided to put that all behind me. He is the son of my parents friends and as much as you hate to acknowledge, he grew up with me just like you did."

Tom quirked an eyebrow; this was all suddenly very amusing to him. "Just like I did?"

Sybil ignored him and continued. "I just need you to be civil. I can't have you getting into fights in the middle of the street."

"I didn't even lunge at him."

"But you wanted to!" she yelled, correcting him. "You're better than that."

"Fine."

"Ugh!" Sybil screamed, growing more and more frustrated the longer this continued. "I am on your side here, okay? I shouldn't even have to admit that but I am."

"Maybe what you said the other night is right. Maybe I should extend the same favor. If I'm getting in the way of you having a boyfriend-"

"You have got to be shitting me, Tom."

"I'm not-"

"Is this some kind of ego trip? Do I need to stroke your manly complex and let you know that I would chose you over him any day? You're my best friend, for fuck's sake! I was talking to him outside of a cafe! I wasn't blowing him! Dear god! You're just like my dad. I can watch out for myself, alright? You're not my keeper! I am a strong girl and I can take care of myself. You know what?" Sybil said, suddenly changing her tune. "I am not even having this conversation anymore."

"Syb, wait. Please—" He grabbed for her arm, forcing her to a stop so that he could pull her into him. She breathed in and he breathed in, heavy eyelids flickering to avoid one another. She bit her lip and then she was gone, off down the street toward home.

~!~

Sybil dialed the phone and waited for an answer. When she was greeted with his voicemail instead of his actual voice, she hung up and tried again. This time, he picked up, sounding hesitant, but hopeful.

"Yeah?"

"Hi. Didn't you know it was me?"

He laughed. "Of course I knew it was you. I always know it's you…" he managed, his voice trailing off into a slow whisper. "You okay?"

At the same time, she offered him a rushed "I'm sorry."

He nodded, and when he remembered they were on the phone, he spoke. "You didn't have to leave me like that."

"I did though," she said, almost as a reminder. "And I apologized, didn't I?"

"You did," he said, no longer wanting to fight. "What are you up to?"

Her words cut him off again, this time leaving him breathless. "Come over," she offered, practically pleading with him to comply.

"Is anyone home?"

Sybil smirked, twirling a curl around her finger. "Are they ever?"

He smiled, hoping she could feel how sorry he was for letting his pride get the best of him earlier. "Yeah…" he breathed out, wishing there were other words for him to say. There were of course, but none of them seemed to fit in the way that he or she needed them to.

The line went dead, and Sybil hung up too.

Time passed, and Sybil heard a knock at her door. Like a child she dropped her head back to giggle. "Come in," she called out. He entered, a similar smile played across his features. He knew what he had done, and he was glad she had caught on. It was clear that she had as she jumped up from the bed and slowly began to walk to him.

"I'm sorry," she attempted, already breathless, as his lips collided into her own. She smiled against his lips, feeling as all was forgiven.

They tumbled backward. Sybil felt the back of her knees hit her mattress, and she stopped them, taking this opportunity to rid him of his shirt. He obliged, but only so his lips could quickly find hers again. Everything about them was hungry and needing, and he quickly began to calculate how many hours it had been since they had last been together. More than 48, he had guessed.

"It's been too long," she mumbled against his lips. It was as if she had been reading his mind. Maybe she had, because as she leaned back, she removed her dress, throwing it down the ground to land with his. It was exactly what he wanted, and as he reached up to knead her breasts through the thin lace of her bra, he realized that she wanted it too.

"I provoked him," he managed between kisses to her neck.

Sybil rolled her head back, granting him more access to her skin. She shook her head, no longer wanting to talk about that. She had apologized and his lips on her skin and him just being here was enough for him to do the same.

"I don't want to talk about it," she managed, right before her lips dropped open, a guttural sigh escaping as he teased her center with his tongue. She didn't know when it had happened, but he had kissed his way down her exposed stomach, all the way to the hem of her panties. He didn't even bother taking them off and just pulled aside the soft cotton to taste her.

They rarely did this. The first time they had tried anything but regular sex, it left them both feeling guilty, and with words unspoken, sealed with a passionate kiss, they were reminded that that wasn't what this was supposed to be about. This was about them connecting, for her to get what she needed and for him to oblige, only so he could receive the same from her in return.

He kissed his way back up her stomach, stopping to pay special attention to her belly button. Her tummy was concave, creasing under the pressure of his lips lapping at her skin.

As he reached her neck, it was she who pulled him up to her, needing to taste him again before they continued.

When they broke apart, she pushed him up onto his knees so she could undo his belt buckle, then the zipper of his jeans. She pushed his jeans down his legs, taking his boxer briefs with them. Both pooled right above his knees and he took the opportunity she gave him staring at his length to take both items off, leaving him completely naked before her.

She giggled when he sucked on her breasts, one then the other, through the thin material of her bra. He smiled, seeing what bra it was she was wearing, and used his favorite part of it, the front clasp, to set her chest free. Sybil sat forward to rid herself of the constricting material. Afterward, her fingers itched down her own body, moving quickly to her underwear. He stopped her though, and with a sly smile, used his teeth to rid her body of the soft cotton boyshorts she wore. As he pulled the material down and off her legs, his bottom lip dragged along her skin. She let it happen, wanting so much more, but accepting this nonetheless. The rest of it would come soon.

When it finally happened, moments later, Sybil sighed. She could and would never get enough of the feeling of him first filling her up, pushing past her folds so it was first just the tip of his cock, then all of him, deep inside of her. Just as he usually did, he stayed there for a bit, then began moving, urging her hips to do the same. Each thrust had them meeting in the middle, slowly letting their bodies bump before they each backed away.

Each time his body tapped her clit, she was closer, and when it was finally time for her to come, he urged her to let go. As her screams echoed and her body shook, he hit his own climax, pulsing inside of her. She was so loud and he always found himself wondering when they'd get caught. Such thoughts were swept away when he saw how lovely she looked, her cheeks kissed by the sunlight from the window above, placing lace patterns across her chest, mimicking the curtains that had been hanging on the windows since she was a child.

Both of them collapsed, and she kissed his pulse point before rolling on top of him, with him still inside of her.

Immediately, he began to play with her hair while she drew lazy circles up and down his chest. Her fingers danced along the planes of his stomach, forcing her to resist the urge she was feeling to lean in and kiss him again.

"Can I ask you something?"

Sybil laughed and looked up to him. "Sure."

"You don't really like that kid, do you?"

Sybil looked down, still playing patterns across his abdomen. "He's just a friend. Why don't you believe me?"

"I believe you," he smiled, finally satisfied with the answer.

She leaned up and kissed him. "Then drop it, alright?" Another kiss made him promise, even if he didn't really want to.

Soon, they would go in for round two, and then follow that with a nap. When it was time for her to go to dinner, she'd sneak him out the front door, kissing his cheek before joining her parents in the dining room, just like he had never even been there.

* * *

Thanks for reading! Reviews are greatly appreciated and even encouraged! (No, really, you should review…)

x. Elle


	5. Youth

**A/N: **For as frustrating as this seems to be for all of you not knowing I'd venture to say it is equally as frustrating for me to see you guys get frustrated and not be able to say anything to really mollify those fears. Because doing so would be to reveal who MB is. But I really did love the reviews! All of you guest babes need to get usernames so we can chat! I always feel SUPER bad with you guys especially because I can't say anything and then I'm left feeling defeated at my computer. But as I think I've told most of you, MB is a very small (but important) part of this story and will be revealed in a couple of chapters. In the meantime, the adventure Tom and Sybil are about to take should give you some insight...hopefully? Or you could be left hating me even more...I'm not quite sure. All I can pray is that you all trust me for a bit! Lovely things are coming babes, I promise!

* * *

"And if you're still breathing, you're the lucky ones.  
'Cause most of us are heaving through corrupted lungs.  
Setting fire to our insides for fun  
We are the reckless,  
We are the wild youth  
Chasing visions of our futures  
One day we'll reveal the truth..."  
_Youth_ - Daughter

* * *

On her toes, Sybil reached up, rifling through a cabinet above the sink. Her midsection was exposed, and she was sure that her mother and father would have so much to say about the outfit she was choosing to wear to the airport. It would be no different from the things they had told her a few days before, when the sheer top she wore left little of the bandeau beneath to hide behind. Her current outfit was somewhere between grunge and boho, with one of Tom's flannels tied around the waist of her jean shorts for her to cover up with if it got cold in the airport or on the plane.

She had only finished packing an hour ago, and she knew that if she didn't hurry, they'd be late. Every summer though, the same thing happened, and they found themselves hoping their flight was delayed if only to bide them more time. It drove Tom up a wall, but she'd always just laugh, taking her time in the line at the coffee hut only to fall into stride with him and hand him his cappuccino right as the plane was boarding.

Unable to find her snacks, and refusing to get a chair for better access to the high cabinets where such confectionaries were kept, Sybil gave up and walked to the sink. She filled a glass with water and began to sip at it, hoping that the room temperature liquid would calm her.

With her arms outstretched leaning on the small strip of counter in front of the sink, Sybil looked out onto the backyard, and the broken swingset there where her and Tom spent summer nights swinging. One day it broke, and her father swore he'd have someone out to fix it, but soon they were not children, and a broken promise forced the wood to soften and the metal to rust.

Behind her, Carson entered the room and walked right for her luggage which was resting in a pile near the hall leading outside. She smiled, feeling too tired to correct Carson when she knew her attempts would only be met with resistance. Sybil did her best to be independent and to fight the privilege given to her, but the older she got, the more exhausting that was. It was easier to let things be, to let Carson take her luggage and bring it out to where a car was waiting for both her and Tom.

Her phone buzzed. Without looking at it, she was sure it was Tom. Sybil could see his loft from here and she watched him lock the door behind himself before heading down the stairs. He crossed the back lawn and would soon be at the downstairs back door, just where she told him the car would be. Sybil assumed the car had arrived, or else Carson wouldn't have brought her bags out. He was already averse to them using the door that used to be meant for servants when the house was still an estate. He'd tell her she was a lady, and that for as big as the home was, nobody would see her being picked up in a private car to be taken to the airport. Sybil would smile, and Carson would continue, reminding her that many people hire cars to take them to the airport.

"Yes, we call those taxis, Carson," Sybil would say with a smile, leaving the butler with no other option but to walk away.

Sybil was in the pantry now, standing with her hands on her hips, threading her forefingers through the belt loops of her shorts. She sighed, spinning around, staring blankly at the boxes of cereal and the cans of soup, and then finally, the bars of chocolate she was sure she had hidden away. In a quick stride, she stepped to them, and grabbed them off the shelf, happy to have finally found the chocolates her father brought her back from Belgium. Even wrapped in foil and hidden behind paper packaging she could smell the sweet cocoa of the dark chocolate and she hoped Tom approved of her pick in aerial treats. He had brought M&Ms last time after nearly forgetting it was his turn to bring snacks, and Sybil scolded him for being unoriginal. He would have criticized her thereafter when it was she who finished almost the entire bag, if she didn't look so adorable doing it.

"Sybil? Sybil, darling? Carson told us you were down here...oh there you are," Cora smiled, seeing her daughter appear from out behind the pantry door, her cropped tank top leaving little to the imagination. She sighed and looked away, deciding this was not the conversation she wanted to have with her daughter, especially when she was to send her off on her own for two weeks.

Her husband had other plans, and Sybil could practically hear the words before he even spoke them. "Where's the rest of that shirt?"

She stepped back and then leant back, if only to give him a better view. She laughed and shook her head, before running a confident hand through her curly hair. "I bought it like this."

Robert chuckled. "You spent money on that?"

Sybil sipped at the bottled smoothie she had grabbed from the fridge. "No," she shook her head. "You did."

"Oh good," Robert let out another laugh, this time looking over his shoulder to hide the agitation he felt growing in his shoulders. Much like his wife had, he too gave up. He leaned forward and rested his weight on the marble countertop separating him and Cora from Sybil.

"Sybil, we wanted to talk to you about college…"

"I don't want to talk about college."

"Well you're flying into Boston. Instead of going right to Provincetown you could stay in Boston for a night and look at a few schools."

Sybil said nothing. She walked to where she had left her purse near the stove and threw the leather bag over her shoulder. Her parents watched her, waiting for a response but she didn't even look at them. She flipped down her sunglasses and walked to the door; she was ready to go.

"Sybil?" Cora asked, stepping toward where Sybil was walking, heading for the back door.

"I heard him," Sybil called over her shoulder. It was a warning more than anything, for them to not follow her out. She was glad they no longer came with her to visit her grandmother. She much preferred when it was just her and Tom, with no chaperone to tell them to keep their laughter down.

"Sybil, your father is only trying to…"

It was then that she stopped. Sybil turned on her heel and found that both of her parents were now standing at the other end of the hall, staring at her with worried faces. "Yeah, I'm so sure!"

"Sybil!" Cora reprimanded, throwing a hand down to dismiss her daughter's actions. Sybil used to be so sweet and well behaved, and she still was, but she was no longer a child anymore, and still somehow the motorcycle boots she wore and her current attitude would never be proof enough to her parents. They'd always see her just as they wanted to, as a little girl, with hair pulled back because it was what her mother wanted. And that was fine. She'd see them as she wished to as well: blind and detached and selfish.

"Tom was right the other night, alright?" Sybil raised a hand as if to point the fact out. "I don't want to go to law school!"

"What?" Robert choked out.

"I've applied to Juilliard and I've gotten in and I'm going. It's what I want—"

"Dancing is not a profession, Sybil," Cora reminded, somehow still sounding sweet even when the tension between her husband and her youngest daughter was always threatening to take such a disposition away from her. Like many women her age, she'd smile, and allow all of it, if only to keep her family happy. And they were happy, she told herself. She had to believe that.

"I think it can be for me," Sybil pleaded, almost in tears now. The bent hand she had pressed to her chest for emphasis fell limply down to her side.

"Were you going to tell us about this?"

Sybil shrugged. She looked from side to side, slowly, needing her glance to catch on something to keep the tears pooling in the corner of her eyes from falling. "I just did."

~!~

She was right where she had been ten minutes ago when they first got out of security and to the gate. With an innocent, yet goofy grin, Sybil asked Tom if he wanted anything from the airport cafe they were nearest to, and then, without waiting for his response, dropped her bag by his feet and walked away. His order, the same as it had been for as long as she could remember, was etched in her mind like her favorite song lyric or the birthdays of loved ones.

Sybil looked over to where Tom was sitting, all the way on the other side of the terminal near their gate. He had his luggage at his feet, and a book in his lap. It was one that looked like it was years old, but Sybil was sure Tom had bought it recently and tarnished it on his own time, by folding back the binding and taking the necessary time with each printed word on every single page.

Tom looked up from his book and stared at her. As soon as they had gotten into the car, she had sat forward and untied his shirt from around her waist and threaded her arms through the sleeves. She spent the time in between Downton and Heathrow folding and unfolding the cuffs of the plaid flannel, unsure of whether she liked the soft material hugging her arms or left loose to drape and kiss her curves only when the wind blew or when she turned a certain way.

He was certain that her parents had a fit about the way she was dressed, or at least wanted to. Sybil didn't tell him about those things anymore, and aside from the fact that they both knew that Downton had raised them, they rarely acknowledged her parents. Sybil didn't wish to talk about them, to let her mind linger on the negativity she believed they brought into her life, and Tom, never one to make her feel bad, just complied. He was thankful for their presence in his life and all both Robert and Cora had done to provide him with a happy and fulfilled life after his mother's passing, but he knew that Sybil and his own drive were really what propelled him forward.

Still in line and finally moving forward now, Tom watched Sybil tap at the screen of her phone. He was sure he would get a vibrate soon, signaling that she had texted him, but no such warning came. He checked his phone several times, but found nothing other than the time and an old photo of them from this time last year, on the lit up screen.

Soon, she was at the front of the line, passing money in exchange for two to-go beverages and a small paper bag Tom could only assume was filled with a pastry of some kind. He shook his head and laughed at this, but was quickly brought elsewhere as his phone began to ring. He grabbed for it from off the chair next to him, and immediately brought the glass to his ear. "Hello?"

"Is Tom Branson there?"

Tom nodded. "This is him."

"Tom, this is Hunter Allen…"

Tom sat up straight and leaned forward. "Hi, sir."

"You know I'm only ten years older than you, right? Let's cut that bullshit right off the bat. Have I caught you at a bad time?"

"Uh, no. I'm about to get on a plane but I should have a couple of minutes."

"Good." Hunter said. "Where are you headed?" The question made Tom's head spin; he had never talked to Hunter Allen. They had emailed and written letters and passed portfolios back and forth over the past year but he had never actually spoken to the prominent journalist.

Tom suddenly forgot where they were going, even if it was the same place he had spent parts of his summer every year at this very time. "Cape Cod," he choked out, suddenly remembering. What he wanted to say were words that would ask Hunter Allen why he was calling. His anxiety was already spiked and he was terrified that by the time they both got over all of these pleasantries, him and Sybil would have to board their plane.

While he was busy worrying about all of this, Sybil had returned from her place in line. She wanted to hand him his coffee, but stopped, taking the time to observe his tense shoulders and the way his hand gripped tightly onto his phone, holding it to his ear. He looked up at her, listening to what Hunter Allen was saying about Boston and how he had never been but he had heard great things about Cape Cod. Tom could only smile and encourage his chatter. All of this seemed so natural, and he hated that he had to hang up soon.

"When are you returning, Tom?"

"Two weeks from today."

"How soon after that can you get to London?"

Tom sat up straight and looked around. "Uhh, as soon as possible. That day, if needed."

Hunter laughed, creating white noise across the line. "Not necessary. What about the following Monday?"

"I can do that…"

"I want to hire you, Tom. I know it's taken me far too long to get to this point. We had the Syria issue to deal with and we're still dealing with it really, but I've spent a lot of time recently looking at all of our correspondences and the pieces you've sent me. You're quite good."

Tom wiped at his mouth, as if to banish all doubts he had ever had. "Wow. Thank you, really. That means a lot." His mouth remained open even as he listened to Hunter discuss specific pieces he had sent in, like the one on the Magdalene Laundries in Ireland, a piece Tom had written weeks before the story hit any paper in Dublin.

"You'd be an intern, but I'd pay you well. You'd have an office and you'd be invited to weekly meetings, just like the rest of my writers." A pause, accompanied by the sound of Hunter sitting back in his giant leather chair, and then: "You know, I don't know you Tom, but I can already tell I'll like you more than the rest of my staff. We need a younger writer around here and I really believe you could be that young writer."

"Thank you," Tom managed. "Just, thank you. I promise that I will work my ass off. I want this so badly."

Sybil's eye widened and she looked at Tom, finally realizing who it was that he was talking to on the phone. She immediately looked around and when she couldn't find a close enough table, she set their drinks down on the vent separating their chairs from the glass windows behind them. Tom continued to thank Hunter, and then hung up, immediately springing to his feet to pull Sybil into a hug.

"Ahhh!" She let out, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck to let him know she was just as excited as he was. Tom spun her around, keeping a similarly tight grip around her waist. His hands rested perfectly, spanning the width of skin between her top and her shorts. He didn't mind and neither did she. They remained like this, both so happy, if only for him.

She knew how hard he had worked to finally get to this moment, and the fact that it happened so simply, over a telephone call taken in the middle of an airport, was very fitting for Tom, Sybil thought. He didn't care if it came how it came or when, he just knew that he wanted it, and she watched him, restlessly, especially over the past few months, work to achieve his dream. It was now all so clear and in reach and his happiness was her happiness.

"I'm so proud of you," she whispered into his ear, hoping her words were strong enough to overshadow the tears she felt growing behind her eyes.

Then, she kissed his cheek, and when he moved to smile at her, she kissed his lips, forgetting the airport they were in and the flight they would soon have to catch. His hands softened, dropping further down her back, and he wanted to moan, or maybe he had, as he felt her stand on her toes and grind further into him. Her hands relaxed around his neck as they both deepened the kiss, making it so that her fingertips just brushed against one another at the back of his neck. It was passionate and all-consuming, and just as quickly and thoughtlessly as it occurred, they found themselves pulling out of it.

Immediately, Sybil released her hold from Tom's neck and stood back to straighten out her appearance. She put her hair behind her ears and then moved her bag so she could sit down and wait for their flight. Tom joined her, and when she handed him his coffee, he accepted it, unable to look at her, rubbing absently at her lips with the tip of her thumb. Anxiously, Tom rubbed at the back of his neck. He grabbed his book off of the chair next to him and began to read again.

* * *

Thanks for reading! Reviews would be nice, if you're feeling it! (How many creative ways can I come up with to passively aggressively encourage everyone to review? Challenge accepted…)

x. Elle


	6. Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa

**A/N: **This isn't a proven fact but I'm almost positive I have the best readers. The feedback I have gotten on this story is more than I could have ever hoped for and I hope you all know how grateful I am for it.

To the person that gave me the heads up on the Law A-level - thank you! And sorry for the inaccuracy. I do try to keep this as authentic as possible but both my beta and I are American so things do go unnoticed sometimes (like a few chapters ago when a friend pointed out I had Tom drop a dollar in the tip jar - oops! We obviously know they wouldn't be using American money.) We read this stuff a million times before I post it for you guys but to two American girls sometimes things slip because it's what we're used to. Up until a few months ago I was going to go to law school (in the states) and I've taken my LSAT. So that's what a lot of my basis is. Sorry about that! But good news, these babes are about to spend some time in America. I'm all for Europe but it's about time some Downton characters made it across the pond…

* * *

"As a young girl  
Louis Vuitton  
With your mother  
On a sandy lawn  
As a sophomore  
With reggaeton  
And the linens  
You're sitting on  
Is your bed made?  
Is your sweater on?  
Do you want to like you know I do?"  
_Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa_ - Vampire Weekend

* * *

There are two bridges to get onto Cape Cod; one to the East and one to the West. Every year as they flew from Logan Airport into Provincetown, the outermost tip of Cape Cod, Tom would mention to Sybil how he'd love to pass over the Sagamore Bridge to drive the span of the coast. She promised him that one day they would. Sybil saw it all in her head, the beat up Jeep they'd rent and the way she'd rest her bare feet on the dash as he cruised her down the coast. His eyes would be covered by sunglasses and a smile would compete against the sun to paint their cheeks.

Like many that left Logan headed for Cape Cod, the plane they took was a private one, chartered by a friend of Martha's. He was an elder man, one that Tom always swore had feelings for Sybil's grandmother. Sybil assured him this was not the case, and that even if it was, those feelings were not reciprocated. Martha enjoyed her quiet life, one found after retirement the same way she had found most of her life; without a husband and with a large home to keep her company. This time, it was found outside of the bright lights of a city, on a stretch of private beach on the tip of Cape Cod. Just like her granddaughter did, she lived for weeks when company filled her home with food, laughter and love.

As soon as Tom and Sybil landed on the small tarmac in Provincetown, they'd take the car Martha had left for them, one of her own, to the nearest supermarket. It was hidden behind a bank of trees with a fruit stand right off the road. Tom and Sybil would stock up on freshly squeezed juices and homemade chowders, hoping that the laughter and love part of this entire arrangement would soon follow.

Martha and Sybil had a lot in common, from their views on the world to their fascination in the ability of a pair of shoes to change your outlook on life. Sybil's grandmother was also particularly fond of Tom, and she loved the way the two had remained such good friends over the years. Everyone liked Tom, but Martha truly loved him, and treated him like a grandson. He was not just the son of her daughter's former housekeeper, or her granddaughter's best friend. He was a part of this family, and rightfully so.

Every year, or at least as long as Tom and Sybil could remember, they had been setting aside these two pristine weeks of summer to spend them on Cape Cod, with her grandmother. Originally, the whole family went, and then it was just Robert and Cora and them. Then, the same summer after Tom's mother had died, he and Sybil began making the trip alone, and they cherished this vacation more than anything else they shared together. Martha was giving and carefree and what she gave the most of was time for Tom and Sybil to be themselves. This was time that both teenagers, now practically adults, took full advantage of. Though they'd never say it, the laughs they shared and the moments they remembered were thanks enough for everything Martha had always done and continued to do for them as they grew up.

Stepping out of the car, Sybil pushed Tom out into the sunlight as he threw one last thing over her shoulder, causing them both to continue laughing about whatever it was they were joking about prior to their arrival. It was always something with her criticizing what he had said and he challenging her with a hypothetical that would leave her speechless. Ironically enough, there was always so many words shared between the pair of them, words they shouted to the heavens and whispered beneath bedsheets, and words they sometimes didn't have to say at all.

"Oh, my darlings!" Martha shrieked, pulling them both in for a hug. Sybil stared up and Tom and smiled. He looked down at her and did the same.

"Oh, let me have Anna grab the groceries and the three of us can go in and get you settled," Martha said, already heading up the pebble driveway toward the walkway that led inside. Anna was Martha's assistant. The word made even Tom laugh, because it was rare for someone without a profession to need help working, especially when there was no work to be done. Sybil rolled her eyes and accepted the label, knowing that she was just as fond of Anna as Anna seemed to be of her. The girl was almost thirty now, and spent her time in the barn out back that had been renovated to be a chic and comfortable apartment.

Martha also had a cook and a driver. She was old money, but she really did enjoy living simply, and if it weren't for her old age, she would live much more simply than she currently did. In fact, it was Cora who insisted she keep the staff on. Cora also insisted she keep the house in Southampton despite making Provincetown her permanent residence.

The house was large, but in an understated way. The front of the house was completely New England, with a fresh coat of white paint accenting the deep green shutters. A mustard yellow door was seemingly always open, with the glass door on the outside acting as a barricade for guests and sand. Typical Cape Cod wood siding covered the back of the house enduring the harshness of the salt water and wind coming up over the bank of the harbor into the backyard.

The foyer revealed a Victorian staircase leading up to the second level of the home. Sybil and Tom laid their bags by the stairs and followed Martha into the large kitchen with its hooded oven and neutral countertops. Everything in the house was earthy, contrasting the home Martha also owned in Southampton. Everyone raved about that home and the parties she used to throw there, but, the bright white cleanliness of that home boasted a sterility Sybil was not accustomed to. She much preferred this and the old way of things, and how there always seemed to be fresh lemonade and cookies on the butcher block in the center of the kitchen.

Tom grabbed for two glasses from a cabinet near the sink and poured himself and Sybil each a glass of lemonade. Martha stepped back and crossed her arms over her chest, using the edge of the counter protecting the sink to lean against. She crossed one foot over the other, watching Sybil hand Tom a plate and then laugh as his eyes bulged at the three cookies that sat on it.

"I don't need three!"

"You said you were hungry!" Sybil offered as proof. She leaned on her arm and turned to look at her grandmother innocently. "When can we begin to make dinner granmamma?"

"Whenever you guys are ready to eat," Martha smiled, finally, after all these years, accepting their offer to make her dinner on their first night in. It wasn't that she ever minded, as the food was always delicious and the kitchen spotless by midnight, but rather that they felt the need to thank her for opening up her home to them. Isn't that what families with beach homes were supposed to do?

Sybil and Tom finished their plates of cookies and then brought their bags upstairs to unpack. Martha's room was down the end of the long hall. Tom and Sybil took the rooms they always took, both of which were separated by a shared bathroom. Each morning when they'd brush their teeth they'd make funny faces to one another in the large mirror on the wall, and then Sybil would trick Tom into letting her shower first.

When they were finished unpacking, they headed back downstairs. Martha sat at the island while they chopped vegetables. They were making Seafood Alfredo and already the house smelled of garlic and shrimp. Sybil breathed it in as she snuck a tomato into her mouth. Tom pointed his knife at her, as if to warn her, and they both laughed at how silly they were being and how it was so much easier to be this way away from Downton.

"Sybil, darling, what is this your mother tells me about school?"

Tom shot a look across the room at Sybil. He walked to her, and with his hips gave her permission to go talk to her grandmother while he continued stirring the pasta and the sauce. He watched her, even as she leaned over the counter into the space Martha was occupying. They looked like they were about to share a secret, but they remained talking at a normal volume, both of them accepting that Tom would always know everything in this family.

Sybil sighed. Her hands were crossed in front of her mouth, and much like she had at the airport, she rubbed at her lips with the back of the nail on her thumb. "They want me to go to law school but I've already accepted another offer."

"Juilliard," Martha stated rather than asked. "I think that's wonderful, my girl."

Sybil smiled, but didn't dare open her mouth. To let her enjoy the moment was to deny that her parents were making all of this extremely difficult for her. "I think so too. I mean, it's what I want–"

"It's what you've always wanted," Martha pointed out. "Ever since you were a little girl you've been running around this house and Downton with your hands in the air and your toes pointed. I know your parents will never tell you this but it's okay to love something that much. Even if it's something the rest of the world views as a hobby. What matters is that it's important to you and if you love it the way I know you do I don't doubt it can't be a profession."

"I'd love to be a studio teacher. I mean, I love to dance and I'd still be able to, everyday, really. But I'd also be able to encourage other children to dance. And I never really had anyone encouraging me to do it. I can't imagine what would have happened if I had."

Martha sighed. She sipped at her glass of wine. "You would have accepted all of those contracts from years ago."

Sybil straightened up and shrugged. She also sipped at her glass of wine, a blush instead of a red. "I don't know about that…"

"I think you would have. But you know what, Sybil? You've come this far and you still love it. And I am so proud of you for grabbing life by the balls and letting it take you where you've always wanted to go."

Tom chuckled, still stirring the thickening Alfredo sauce.

"What do you think Tom?"

"I agree," Tom managed, looking at Sybil with eyes that were frighteningly sure. "I mean, of course she should go," he said, reaching down to turn the stove off. He drained the pasta and put it in the large serving dish on the counter. Carefully, he poured the sauce over it, and then brought the dish to the island almost like an offering being brought to an altar. "You have to go," he finally said, letting his eyes linger on hers for just a moment too long.

Martha clapped her hands together, bringing them both out of it. "See?" Martha said enthusiastically. "Tom agrees!"

Sybil smiled and shrugged and then made quick work of bringing the salad out to the table on the back porch where all of the plates were already set. They all sat and began to enjoy the meal on the enclosed porch. Summer bugs flew around outside, zipping and buzzing past the screen door but making no attempts to bother the family inside.

They took their time passing around bread and salad and the main dish. They asked Martha how the weather had been so far that summer, and after telling them it was fair, as usual, she began to ask some questions of her own.

"Sybil, how are your parents? They tell me–"

Tom passed Martha the salad, and without hesitation, shook his head. "New subject. Probably not good first night conversation. Maybe second or—"

Sybil smiled, and grabbed for the salt from the other side of the table. She sprinkled it on her salad and then put it back. "Dad's an idiot. Mum's an idiot. Nothing's changed," she said, letting a smart smile appear on her face. Her grandmother tapped her cheeks, agreeing to move on, before passing Sybil the salad.

"Tom, are you seeing anyone?" Sybil looked up from her bowl to gauge his reaction.

Tom smiled and shook his head. "Nope. Still single."

"Do you children even try to date? I mean, I understand Downton has pretty much turned into a retirement community over the years but there's always London or Oxford or—"

"Reading," Sybil said, reminding her grandmother of the city with her favorite little shops.

"Exactly," Martha shrieked. "And nothing? I don't believe it…"

"Believe it," Tom retorted as him and Sybil shared a laugh.

"And Tom, Sybil tells me you've finally gotten that job with that Allen fellow. Congrats!"

Tom beamed. "Thank you. Yeah, I'm excited."

"Finally," Sybil murmured, causing Tom to hold his smile for just a little bit longer.

"Sybil, darling, be nice to Tom. You'll be living on his couch with your salary, love." Everyone laughed and then Martha continued, deciding that they had enough with discussing the future and the past. "There's a new sushi place in the village that you two have to try for me. Tom, I know you don't care much for the stuff, but I'm sure Sybil can make you eat something. I've heard good things but I haven't had the time to go down myself. Now with you two here, I don't need to. Do tell me how it is."

Sybil raised her eyebrows and flashed a smile in Tom's direction. Of course her grandmother was already making plans for them. On Cape Cod it was easy to go an entire week without leaving home. Bright mornings turned into lazy afternoons where snacking and naps were abundant. Nighttime was usually reserved for going out to eat and getting ice cream at a local shop before seeing an outdoor show, but even that was laid back. Things were not crowded or suffocating the way they seemed to be in London, or Oxford, or even Reading.

When dinner was finished, they brought the dishes to the kitchen with the help of Martha. They told her to relax and that they would take care of it, but she refused, thinking it was the least she could do after such a lovely meal. Sybil was an acceptable cook, and though he'd never admit it, Tom was quite good in the kitchen. Together, through teasing and jest, they found themselves the chefs of perfectly prepared meals. Martha wondered if they cooked at home but she didn't bother asking. She was almost sure they never did.

When dishes were done, Martha excused herself for the night. Tom and Sybil told her to wake them up in the morning for breakfast, and she smiled and said she would, leaving all of them to know better. They had spent most of their day traveling and they needed the time to sleep in. There were no appearances to keep up with here, and as usual, Martha planned on letting the teens sleep in, even if it meant that guilt would push them out of bed instead of the bright Cape sunshine.

Tom and Sybil spent an hour or so out on the porch. Sybil reclined on one chair and Tom took the other, and between them a patio table with Sybil's bottle of wine and Tom's beer. They drank and laughed and talked about things like the pink sky above and how it was crazy to them that even in the night the water lapped at the shore and the dock so gently.

When her bottle of wine and his two bottles of beer were finished, they too retired upstairs, taking their time with each step until they reached the landing at the top and parted to go into their respective rooms. Minutes later, both dressed in their pajamas with Tom absent of his shirt (he hated brushing his teeth and washing his face with a shirt on) they met in their shared bathroom. Sybil combed through her hair and then tipped her head over to collect her hair into a ponytail at the top of her head. She twisted her black tresses into a bun at the crown and then stared at her face, pale and irritated from after having just washed it. Ready for bed, they both smiled at one another and as Sybil hit the light switch on the wall, left for their individual rooms.

Tom rid his bed of all of the decorative pillows and then got under the covers, immediately liking the way the cool sheets felt on his skin. He was tired and stiff, and absolutely ready to welcome sleep after a long day of travel. Quickly, slumber overtook him, and soon it was the middle of the night and he found himself waking at the feeling of someone, no doubt his best friend, hovering over him.

"Move over," she whispered, her raspy voice mixing with the wind howling in through his open window. There was nothing like a cool sea breeze on a warm summer night.

"Syb…" he began, with one eye still closed to block out the brightness of the moon trying to get in.

She stepped forward, causing each kneecap to bump the edge of his mattress. "Don't you want me here?"

He didn't nod or say anything, but his actions invited her in. Without thinking, he raised the comforter covering his body and welcomed her inside. This bed was an adult version of all the forts they ever made as children. Like those forts, they'd share secrets and laugh at jokes that only they knew the meaning to, and when the morning came, they'd make the bed just as they used to fold their blankets and put away the fort, and with it, all the memories it held.

Sybil crawled underneath the covers and immediately scooted in to him. She was tired, but she didn't wish to sleep and part of her wished that he would fight the same battle with her. "They always say how scared of the world children are. Like of the dark and of monsters under the bed and in the closet but I miss being a kid. I was much more fearless then."

Tom looked down to her. He hadn't really noticed but her head was pressed into the nakedness of his chest, with her hair tickling his upper arm as she used this part of him as a pillow. She did so because he allowed it, and Tom even found himself thinking this position was comfortable, despite the dull throb that began to make itself apparent in his arm.

He smiled down at her. "I'd say you're pretty fearless."

She returned the favor, casting a smile back up at him. It was like a careful game of table tennis, with emotions instead of a ball bouncing back and forth until one of them lost their concentration and let the feeling disappear. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. You told your parents what you wanted to do and now you're going to do it."

"Actually," Sybil pointed out, doing her best to let her sass subside, "you told my parents what I wanted to do, so..."

Tom chuckled. "But the important part is that you're doing it."

"I am. Not for them or anyone else. For me." It was an affirmation, one like those she used to tell herself each morning before going to school. The longer she said it, the easier it was to believe. She only wished such rituals weren't necessary.

"That's brave."

"You think?" Sybil looked up at him again, this time, sending the ping pong ball they were passing back and forth ricocheting at the wall. Such a look would cut him like a knife had she not been so dainty and careful with her actions.

"Yeah, I do."

"You're brave," she said, hoping this time she didn't have to look at him for him to know her exact meaning. Sybil wished to reach up and stroke his cheek but her hands remained, one on her side and one on his.

"Am I? Your father thinks me a joke for skipping out on uni…"

"My father is worried we'll end up married and you won't be able to support me," Sybil retorted with a chuckle. Tom joined her and soon they were both laughing, even as their minds painted pictures of the both of them, married in law and not by name, sharing a flat they both loved almost as much as they always wished they could swear to love one another.

"That sounds awful," Tom deadpanned.

Sybil looked up to him, lifting her head off his chest. "What part?"

"Both parts."

She sat up fully and wailed him with one of the pillows above her head. "Jerk!" she objected.

Eventually, she rolled over, and he joined her. Though the bed was plenty big enough for the both of them, he settled against her back, with a strong outstretched arm pulling her close. She held onto it like a stuffed animal, something to hug and keep close even when she no longer needed to feel safe in the world. It was a comfort nonetheless, and as she let sleep take her, she wondered what the two of them must look like from above, so close and yet so detached, unaware of all the world wished to take from them.

~!~

When Tom awoke, his face was pressed firmly into a pillow, with one arm underneath his head and the other draped over Sybil's back. Slowly, so as not to wake her, he sat up, letting the wrinkled comforter pool at his waist. Tom stared out the window to where the ocean lay still kissing the sand below. It was the first of thirteen days they'd be spending here, and he was upset with himself for not being up before early the way he usually was. Sleeping was nice though and it came easily, especially as he and Sybil found valleys in the bed he was sure they had left there from the year before.

As he pushed aside the bedcovers he walked to the bathroom to shower. Tom took his time, letting the hot water rush over him, and then when he was clean and satisfied, he stepped out and wrapped a towel from the linen closet tightly around his hips. Quietly, he changed, keeping a trained eye on Sybil who was now occupying the center of the bed in his absence. Her hair, once tight atop her head was now curling around her face, and the bun that held it all together was threatening to come undone at the nape of her neck.

He smiled, turning away so he could get changed into a fresh change of clothes. When he was done, and his hair was fixed and his teeth brushed, he walked downstairs, giving Sybil one last look before shutting the door to his room.

At the bottom of the stairs, he heard the news on in the den and could smell fresh biscuits and sausage and fruit salad waiting for him on the island. He almost wanted to go back upstairs and wake up Sybil, but he remembered her there, her fair skin exposed and painted by the mid-morning sun, and he thought better of it.

There was tea on the island, but a small pot of coffee had been made and was warming on its burner near the wall. Tom walked to it, loving that Martha always did her best to make him feel comfortable. He did drink tea, but not in the way Sybil or the rest of her family did. Martha didn't mind putting forth the extra effort, and she revealed to Tom that part of her motives were selfish as she did love the smell of coffee early in the morning.

As Tom was plating his breakfast, Martha entered, watching him prepare his food. He had made it to the fridge to pour himself a glass of orange juice when she finally spoke. "I'm not stupid, you know."

Tom put back the jug of fresh juice back in the fridge and closed the door. A small smirk, barely evident, appeared on his lips and he did his best to hide it as he sipped at his black coffee. "She doesn't like sleeping alone," Tom began, hoping these few words were enough to mollify the situation. In all of these years, they had never been caught or even questioned for being the way they were around one another. If people would ask, and sometimes they did, especially lately, they'd tell them what they always told the world: they were best friends, nothing more and nothing less.

Martha raised an eyebrow and walked into the kitchen to sit across from Tom at the breakfast nook by the window. "I'm not Robert. I'm not going to banish you from the house or kill you."

Tom laughed. "He'd never kill me. And I doubt he'd ever banish me from the house. I don't think he's ever given it a thought. He knows Sybil would never go for me and he's thankful for that." Martha's eyebrow held it's arch, urging Tom to continue. He softened. "She's just a friend." And then: "We're just friends."

"Why is that Tom?" Martha inquired with her pinky jutting out from her porcelain tea cup. She sipped at the liquid and tasted its sweetness as she waited for his answer.

"Why is what?"

Sybil appeared in the archway. Her hair was out of its bun, cascading messily down her shoulders. The loose tank top and sleep shorts she wore were hidden beneath a sweatshirt she had wrapped around her body. Even Martha knew it was Tom's.

"Nothing," Tom mumbled, wiping the biscuit crumbs from the corner of his mouth. He then smiled at Sybil and offered her the seat next to him, one that she took after she had made herself a healthy helping of all of the foods laid out on the counter. She poured herself a cup of tea and added two cubes of sugar, a squirt of lemon, and a bit of honey before sitting down. Tom immediately began to tease her on all of the unnecessary add ons to her morning beverage. She elbowed him and then gave such teasing right back to him, pointing out the fact that his coffee looked like mud.

"Mmm," Tom teased, sipping at the liquid in his mug causing Sybil to make a disgusted face.

Breakfast continued on like this, with Martha watching her granddaughter and her best friend banter back and forth. It was the other things she noticed though, like the way Sybil rested her hand on Tom's back when she scooted past him, or the way he paid special attention to her smile and truly listened to her laugh, that slowed her down and made her really look.

* * *

Thanks for reading! Feedback is always appreciated.

Isn't Martha such a smart woman? Let's fangirl over her...

x. Elle


	7. Drove Me Wild

**A/N: **Still super appreciative of those of you who read, review, favorite, follow (whatever else) this story! It means the world to me and I cannot say 'Thank you!' enough.

If you have a question about the story or want to chat about something, it's much easier for me to talk to you if you have a username. I advocate that everyone gets them because it also helps me to know who's reading my story. I mean, you do you, just know I don't respond to reviews in my AN the way a lot of author's do. It's just not me. So if you want a response to your inquiry, message me! (Which you can only do if you have a username, I believe…)

* * *

"When I think of you, I think of your skin  
Golden brown from the sun.  
Your arms outstretched, Your hair cut shorter than it'd been  
But still blowing in the wind  
When I picture you I think of your smile  
And it drives me wild  
Your laugh escaping you, Your head thrown to the side  
And it drives me wild  
You carried romance in the palm of your hand  
You called the plays for us  
You clung to self-restraint, you followed the plan  
You put the brakes on this  
And it drove me  
And it drove me wild."  
_Drove Me Wild_ - Tegan and Sara

* * *

Sybil dipped a hand into the water she was floating above, skimming the surface with fingers that turned a pale blue as they flailed about creating ripples around her. She enjoyed the dark line that separated her sun-kissed skin from the part of her arm submerged in the water. Such a thing was so simple and beautiful and she smiled for no real reason at all but because it was summertime and she could.

Rolling her head to the other side, she was met face to face with Tom, his arms bent and resting on her raft while the rest of him waded in the water. He raised an eyebrow at her, almost to ask her what she was thinking, but she kept smiling, thinking that was enough of an answer.

Sybil shielded her eyes so she could get a better look at him. After a week of being here and spending days very much in the way they currently were, his freckled skin had taken on a brown hue with each little dot blending into his tanned skin. They would spend their mornings having breakfast with Martha, and their afternoons were spent walking into town or driving to a local dive to have a cup of chowder and a fresh pitcher of sweet tea out on the harbor. Tom and Sybil would take their time with each activity, and if they weren't careful, they'd find themselves walking back to Martha's after dusk, with Sybil latched tightly onto Tom's arm, the two laughing loudly enough about politics to cover up the discomfort that would have otherwise been present.

Today, a Sunday, found Sybil getting up with Tom to attend church. He remembered that morning, watching her change into a pretty grey sundress, unable to take his eyes off her long enough to protest her joining him. It had been years since she had gone to church with him and he remembered the first time, an educational trip she had called it, and the horror it brought both of her parents.

It wasn't something he did every Sunday but he tried to attend mass as much as possible. He felt the pull more often than not when he was happiest and yet somehow missing his parents and feeling guilty for the fact. She must have felt him, tossing and turning next to her, this time in her bed instead of his. It was enough to have her up before the sun when things like studio time and academics weren't calling and the world would have usually insisted she sleep in.

When they returned, Martha took them both in, immediately ushering them into the kitchen to enjoy the breakfast she had helped prepare. It was larger than most mornings as she had also attended church and was used to a large feast after an early sermon.

They ate and discussed things like the parade that would be happening that afternoon in the village and a new art exhibit opening up a town over to benefit sex trafficking in Cambodia.

When they were done, Sybil and Tom cleared the table, and when they went to wash the dishes, Martha insist they let Anna do it so the three of them could enjoy the rest of the day outside.

The morning turned into an afternoon, and the snack bowls and pitcher of lemonade Martha had set out were dwindling as Tom and Sybil floated in the pool below the deck. Martha read a book and did a few crossword puzzles, looking down at the two teenagers in the pool long enough to sometimes catch them splashing water at one another or racing from one end of the pool to the other.

"Do you think God exists?" Tom asked, causing Sybil to gaze at him, her smirk saturated with inquiry. With his arms holding his head up on her raft, she used the balance he was providing her with to turn herself over. She had spent all afternoon applying and reapplying suntan lotion only to find her pale skin turning a dull rose color. Sybil figured if she was going to get burnt, at least she'd allow her entire body to turn an unsightly pink.

She continued to raise an eyebrow at Tom, now resting her chin on her hands in the same way he was. "I think there's a higher being, sure."

"But a God. Like the one in the Bible?"

"Was an ass," Sybil quipped.

Tom chuckled into his arm. "Okay, not Old Testament God, but like New Testament God."

"So Jesus?"

"Oh my god, just answer the question!"

Sybil giggled. "Yeah, I guess. Why?"

"Just curious."

Sybil sat up a little to look at Tom. He wasn't smiling anymore and she thought how she'd do anything to make it happen again. Somehow, she knew her next response and the question to follow wouldn't be the thing to perk him up. Even she couldn't always do that in the way she wanted to. "I went to mass with you because I know how much it means to you."

"But it means a lot to your parents and you stopped going to church with them years ago," Tom pointed out, referring to when a younger Sybil proudly told her parents she would no longer be waking up early on Sundays to attend church and would instead spend this time at the dance studio. If he remembered correctly, she was thirteen then, just a year or two shy of her confirmation. Her sisters had been confirmed, Robert and Cora reminded Sybil. But the girl, her hair as frizzy as ever, and her eyebrows raised to show she would not allow her position to budge, reminded her parents that she was not Edith or Mary almost as if this was something she was dumbfounded they still needed to be reminded of.

Sybil sighed. "It means something different to you than it does to them."

Tom nodded. "How?"

Sybil immediately smirked, loving when they played this game. They would answer questions posed by the other even if the other knew the answers. It was a test, to make sure the other was always listening and committing each thing to memory when parents and teachers and other friends never really could.

"I know it meant a lot to your parents," Sybil choked out, her voice barely audible. "And I know you go because of them and sometimes I miss your mom too and I know how it is to be alone in missing someone so I guess I just want to remind you that you're not alone. I'll go and I'll stand out and I'll not understand any of those gestures and prayers, but I'll stand next to you if it means supporting you."

"Thanks, Syb."

"Can I ask you a question?"

Tom brightened. "Always."

"Do you believe in God?"

He nodded, giving in and officially agreeing to play the same game he had propositioned her with only a few seconds ago. "Yes."

"Like Bible God?"

"Like Bible God. Jesus, if you will," he said, with a laugh that had Sybil grinning.

"How do you justify him letting your parents die? I mean…" But Sybil didn't know what she meant. She was just trying to mollify such harsh words with hopes that he would cut her off before she even had to.

"I don't think God has power over things like that. I don't think anybody has power over that shit," Tom stated. "I think God's there for you when you need him. I don't know," Tom said, looking at the edge of the pool where her raft and his floating legs made waves against the blue lining. He met her eyes again. "I think it's just comforting to believe in something. God isn't the magical genie that grants all your wishes. He's—"

"He?" Sybil raised an eyebrow and as heavy and serious as this conversation was they both laughed, if only to lessen the tension for a moment.

"I think it's just hard for people to think they were placed here without a purpose."

"So you think you were put here on Earth by God for a purpose? What is this purpose, Tom Branson?" Sybil asked, putting on her best intelligent voice to do so.

"To write, I guess. To be a good friend and someday a good husband and father. I don't know. To be kind to other people and to try my best."

"To get into Heaven?"

Tom studied her face. "I guess, sure. I don't know. I don't care about all of that."

"Can you promise me something?"

"Sure."

"Can you promise to die after me so that I don't have to live without you but I can come back as a ghost and like fuck your life up?"

Tom laughed out loud. "No way! I'm going first. And I'm going to come back and rearrange your bookshelf and—"

Sybil splashed him, already growing anxious at the thought of her bookshelf, organized alphabetically by author, in anything but perfect condition. Tom responded by knocking her off her raft, sending her underwater. Swimming back to the surface, she jumped on his shoulders and tried to dunk him, to no avail. Their feud ended with Sybil hoisted over Tom's shoulder, with him keeping a tight hold on her bum where her black bottoms were beginning to ride up.

When she insisted he put her down, he did, sending her body head-first into the pool. As Sybil reemerged, she saw Martha standing on the rail of the deck up near the house, asking if they needed anything. Both Tom and Sybil gathered their composure, and with a faint blush to their cheeks excused themselves to go down to the beach.

"Here," Sybil said, handing Tom her body of sunscreen, "could you do my back?"

He grabbed the bottle and she turned around. The bandeau top she wore exposed most of her pale skin to him and for a moment he wished she was in the other suit she had brought, the one made to look like a vintage swimsuit of the forties. It covered more of her hips and almost all of her back. Her chest was almost more supported, and Tom, ever the teenage boy, couldn't help but to stare.

"You got my hair wet," she teased, holding it up so Tom could rub lotion into her neck. "I'm going to have to have the worst time detangling this later," she quipped over her shoulder. Tom only smirked as he poured more lotion into his hands. He ran it up and down the planes of her back, paying special attention to the curve of her spine and then her exposed sides. "You can brush it later, got it?"

Tom laughed, suddenly picturing Sybil to be the bossy little girl she once was, with her hands on her hips and her foot tapping aggressively on the ground. "Yeah, okay, Syb."

"I'm serious, you ass."

"Here's an idea," he began, "why don't you just brush it in the shower and then let it air dry? Why do you always have to straighten it?"

Sybil turned around, seemingly content with the barely damp feeling of rubbed in lotion on her back. "Why do you care?"

Tom shrugged. "You just spend a lot of time on it. It's hair."

"You shave your chest," she pointed out.

Tom sat down on the blanket they had laid out onto the sand. The beach was quiet and empty, and he wondered what they must have looked like to boats passing by or jets flying overhead. "I do not, actually. I trim," he teased.

"Stop trimming. You're a man, aren't you?"

"Uhm, yeah, but Syb, you wouldn't be able to handle me as hairy as I naturally am."

Sybil quirked an eyebrow and began to laugh. "Is that a dare? A threat?" she asked, her voice raising in both volume and pitch. "You're bold today."

"I'm bold? What was all of that heavy shit in the pool?" Tom asked, throwing a thumb over his shoulder to point in the general direction of the house.

"Oh shut up!" Sybil said, sitting next to Tom and slapping his chest lightly with the back of her hand. "You started it! Questioning the existence of God is not typical pool conversation!"

"Oh yeah?" Tom leaned back. He removed his Ray Bans from his eyes and set them on her beach bag behind their heads. "What is?"

Sybil joined him, but laid on her stomach instead, using a folded towel for support underneath her head. With her cheek pressed into the blanket she stared and Tom and began to think. "Okay, gummy bears or gummy worms?"

With eyes shut, Tom smiled. He didn't need to see her to echo the smirk already playing its way across her face. "Gummy bears, definitely."

"Really?" Sybil shrieked out. "You always eat my gummy worms…"

Tom opened his eyes and turned so he too was on his stomach. Sybil spread out her towel so he could rest on it as well. He scooted closer to her to get more comfortable. "No," Tom said, almost as a reminder. "I eat your gummy worms because you only eat the red and blue ones and yet you insist, INSIST," he emphasized, "I buy them."

Sybil looked down. "I had no idea."

She sounded sad, and the notion made Tom laugh. As he did, Sybil looked up. "I feel bad now."

Tom reached out to touch her shoulder. "Don't feel bad. I mean, they're okay. I'll eat them, obviously. I just prefer gummy bears. They're cute and tiny and sweet."

"You're five years old."

"YOU ONLY EAT ONE KIND OF GUMMY WORM, SYB!"

She looked up to the sun and began to laugh and he joined her, never being able to hold back his own happiness at hearing her release such an exuberant emotion. He'd bottle it and keep it as his own if she let him, and sometimes when they laughed so hard their stomachs ached and their eyes teared, he was certain in a way that she had.

The afternoon turned into evening, with the sun turning orange and the moon beginning to compete with it for dominance in the sky. The ocean continued to kiss the shore but as the tide went out it became less and less frequent.

"Let's stay here forever," Sybil proposed. Her head was rolled completely to the side, taking in his eyes and the way his hair was somehow still perfectly coiffed atop his head.

"Cape Cod?" Tom asked with a smile. "Okay," he agreed. "Let's do it."

"You don't really mean that," she teased, thinking of the job he'd be leaving behind in London and all of the things he had worked so hard to achieve there. She was jealous, really, of all that was coming for him. Big things, she thought, things she herself could never achieve. It just seemed life didn't work for her in that way, but she was happy to have it work like that for him. If anyone deserved it, it was Tom, and she was happy, grateful even, that he let her share all of it with him.

"No, I guess I don't. But I'll keep coming to visit you if you ever did move here."

"You'd let me move here?"

Tom chuckled. "I can't control what you do, Syb. I'm your best friend. I'll support you with whatever you want."

"What about New York? What if I love it there and don't want to return home?" she propositioned.

"I'd come visit you whenever I could," he stated simply. "But—"

"But?" she questioned, her breath hitching in her throat.

"I'd miss you."

"I'd miss you, too."

~!~

The kitchen was clean after dinner, and the lights above the island reflected onto the marble countertop below as Sybil stirred the tea she had just made for herself and her grandmother. Even with the burner off, the kettle still hummed on the stove, begging to be filled back up and set off again.

Sybil put both cups of tea onto a tray and with them, a bowl of lemons and saucers of sugar cubes and milk. Two small silver spoons rattled on the tray as she brought it through the hallway, in through the den and then onto the back porch.

Citronella torches lit up the end of the staircase leading down toward the beach. Paper lanterns hung in a string around the cabana Martha sat beneath. She was reading a novel, one that made Sybil blush and roll her eyes at the metallic font and the suggestive cover. Martha would tell her that she was never too old to indulge in such cheesy reading material, and then Sybil made her promise not to cross into more modern romance novels, like the "50 Shades" series.

"Oh, I don't even know what that is," Martha would tell her. And Sybil would laugh and nod contently. Then, Martha would add: "But whose the author again?"

Sybil approached her grandmother and sat the tray down on the white wooden end table separating her lounge chair from the one Sybil was about to sit on.

Martha looked up, smiling at her granddaughter. "Where's Tom?"

Sybil sat down, straddling the lounge chair. She offered her grandmother her cup of tea, and as Martha grabbed for it, Sybil did the same. She made busy with her fingers, dropping a sugar cube into the steaming liquid and beginning to stir. "Finishing an article before we walk into town to get ice cream. Do you want to come?" Sybil asked, looking up now.

"Oh no, you two go."

Sybil's shoulder's dropped. "Gran, we've barely hung out since I got here," she reasoned, now squeezing a lemon into her tea. She continued to stir, hoping and waiting for her grandmother's answer to change.

Martha sat forward, bring her feet down off the recline of the chair and onto the deck below. "Is my granddaughter actually requesting time with me?"

"She is," Sybil stated confidently and with a smile. "Is that so ridiculous?"

"I suppose not. It's just occurred to me these past two weeks that you're not the little girl you used to be. You're a woman, Sybil. You need your space."

"I'd like to see my granmum, though."

Martha sighed, reaching out to place a calming hand to her granddaughter's cheek. "You're a sweet girl, Sybil. Promise me you won't let New York change you."

Sybil feigned shock. "Oh, never!"

Martha chuckled and then looked out, her eyes adjusting to take in the deep blue of the ocean and the way the moon danced around across the surface. "Did you and Tom enjoy your stay?"

"Always," Sybil beamed, placing a stray curl behind her ear. "I told him I want to move here."

"He'd miss you," Martha pointed out, even though she knew she was only repeating something Sybil was aware of, and perhaps had already heard sometime that day.

"And I'd miss him. But I don't think I was serious," Sybil brushed off with a laugh. "I like London and...I don't know."

Martha didn't know where to go next. This conversation or everything it was about to be was a long time coming. It saddened her in a way that for as honest and kind as Sybil was with the world she was never afforded the same comforts. She didn't know what, but Martha knew that her daughter and Robert hid things from her, things they believed she couldn't handle or wasn't quite ready to accept. What they didn't know, as most parents fail to recognize, is that children are resilient and often better at accepting change than their older counterparts. She knew this world and was ready to take it on in a way that Martha herself never felt prepared for. If anyone deserved the truth it was Sybil, she thought.

"When are you two going to get your heads out of your asses long enough to see you're perfect for one another?"

"Granmama!" Sybil shrieked, immediately putting her tea cup down. Unsure of what motivated her, she stood up and walked to the edge of the deck to look out onto the shore. It was amazing to her how right at this very moment she stood at the tip of the East Coast. Not too far away, surely sleeping or wishing they were, her family was back in London, just on the other side of this ocean. It was also fascinating that even when she wasn't here, when she was back dancing at the studio or spending her time tucked up in bed, this place still existed, just waiting for her to return.

"Sybil, God puts people in your life that you need and you need to thank him by cherishing those people."

Sybil spoke to the ocean, not needing to look at her grandmother to understand and accept the sincerity written across her face. She sighed, unsure of how to respond. These were truths even she wasn't ready for, ones that she had entertained but always denied to protect her own heart and his. "He's just a friend, Granmama. And I do cherish him. Everyday I cherish him."

"Your grandfather was my best friend," Martha began.

"Granmama, really..."

"The best lovers always are."

Another sigh left her mouth as Sybil turned back to her grandmother. Her hands were crossed behind her back, resting on the bannister of the deck. She began to peel at the paint there, sure that another coat of white was hidden right below. "He's Irish. His mother was our housekeeper. Papa would—"

"Your father can eat paint," Martha spat, causing Sybil to wonder what it was that her grandmother knew. She had always thought they had gotten along, or at least respected one another, but now, she wasn't so sure. Sybil was sure she could hear hesitation in Martha's voice and perhaps a bit of disgust as well. Was she trying to stand up for her granddaughter or just taking this position to spite her son-in-law? Sybil was almost positive the two were separate, but Martha was convinced otherwise. "Who cares what he'll say? And he loves Tom. Maybe not visibly in the way he loves Matthew but he does respect him like a son and although your stubborn father will never admit it, he knows how much Tom means to you, and even you to him."

"Either way, I don't love him," Sybil reasoned, more with herself than for her grandmother's benefit. It was clear at this point that nothing could be said to change Martha's mind, and although Sybil was fighting this, she found herself thankful for the support; someone was finally on her side.

"No, of course not. You two are only sleeping together."

Sybil's eyes widened and like a child she threw down her hands to her side. "Granmama!"

"I may be getting old but I'm not stupid, Sybil. I am sorry child but I know my youngest granddaughter and I know that's not like you. That was Mary for a little bit and then Edith in college but never you."

"It's not love and we're not sleeping together," Sybil stated plainly, her words full of conviction.

"Have they invented some other word for it?" Martha sing-songed giving Sybil just enough time to turn back to the ocean and smile. She stared out at the water thinking of all the other words there were to describe how Tom made her feel. Happy and beautiful and peaceful and worthy, she thought. She also thought about the plane they'd be taking back tomorrow, and how it would bring her to London, to where she was a lesser version of herself to appease her family. Sybil thought of the two bridges to get onto Cape Cod and how she was always told how hard it is to get here but never told how hard it was to leave.

* * *

What do we think, babes? I promise you the reveal is so close I can taste it...

x. Elle


	8. One More Night

**A/N: **I can't say it enough: Thank you so much to everyone that reads my story. Especially as we get closer to the reveal and into what really makes these characters tick, I'm so glad everyone seems to be enjoying it and absorbing different things. This story is so so special to me and I'm happy that you all have received it so well. So thanks again! I am so appreciative for all the feedback and love I've received and I can only pray that it continues!

* * *

"He starts with her back cause that's what he sees  
When she's breaking his heart she still fucks like a tease  
Release to the sky, look him straight in the eye  
And tell him right now, that you wish he would die  
You'll never touch him again so get what you can  
Leaving him empty just because he's a man  
So good when it ends, they'll never be friends  
One more night, that's all they can spend"  
_One More Night_ - Stars

* * *

As soon as Sybil got in, she dropped her keys by the door and began to bring her things up to her room. She was thankful Carson wasn't around and was afforded the time to carry her own belongings and put each bag exactly where she wanted it in her bedroom even if that meant throwing her suitcase by the closet and carrying her duffel bag to rest at the end of her bed. When she heard it, the slow creak signaling her door was being opened, she sprang at him, instantly wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist.

"Hi," she beamed, her hands already fisting in the short hair at the back of his neck as she leaned in to kiss him. He gave in, his hands finding the back of her shirt and extending, one down and one up. He wanted to cup her face and deepen the kiss, but she had already pulled away, her mouth telling a different story: "I missed you."

He nodded and with a laugh, cocked his head to the side. "Me or this?"

"All of it." And then: "You," she breathed out in a whisper before capturing his lips in a passionate kiss. Sybil couldn't get enough of this or him, and the grip her legs had around her waist only tightened. She felt him harden beneath the zipper of his jeans and she wanted to free him and show him just how much she had missed him, but her mind had other ideas, and wanted to take this slow, with actions so deliberate it would be her touch that sent him over the edge.

"I missed you, too," he finally managed in between kisses.

She pulled away and smiled before kissing him again, this time slow and long. "It's been too long," she whispered against his lips before seizing them again. Again, he nodded, and began to walk toward her bed. Gently, he sat her down, and with heavy lidded eyes she looked up at him.

Sybil imagined her lips were swollen like his, but was quickly distracted as her own hands, both with a mind of their own, reached up for him, needing to touch his skin.

Her fingers ran a steady line over the hem of his jeans where the cotton of his briefs showed when he leaned back, already shivering under her care. Sybil moved his shirt up, running her hand, now flat, over the planes of his stomach. As she watched his eyes, intent on focusing in on her delicate fingers, she was urged to run her hands all the way up his chest, bringing the henley he wore with it. As she reached his shoulder, she stood up, and with the bed just behind her legs, she found herself flush against him, feeling his want tight on the soft cotton of the shirt she wore.

God, he was tall, and fuck, she wanted and needed him more than she ever had. Somehow, this was different from before, and though her hands were everywhere now, on his cheeks to pull him in for a searing kiss and then on his shoulders for a strong grip to show direction, Sybil couldn't quite put a finger on what it was that made this so electric. With shaky hands, Sybil's hands raked at his sides, bringing the shirt he wore up and over his head. It cascaded down over his shoulder, dropping near their feet. She kicked it aside, and they tumbled backward, connected at the lips again, as her back met the mattress below.

It was his turn now, to toy at her sides and run his hand up to her chest. He gave her left breast a tug and then moved his lips downward, off her lips and to her chin, then to her neck, then the valley of her breasts. Sybil moaned when she felt his hot mouth on her skin, clearly marking what he believed to be his. She was in such ecstasy, she couldn't fight him on it, and part of her, a rather large part, didn't want to.

"Christ," she murmured, her head still dropped back against the comforter. She was doing her best to gain control back while at the same time giving him all the room he needed to continue to suck and lap at the sensitive skin of her collarbone. "I need you," she whined.

He smiled and looked up, finally allowing their eyes to meet. He shook his head to signal that he wasn't ready for that, and she smiled as he kissed her, the action sealing an agreement between the two of them to, for whatever reason, take their time. They stayed like this, attached at the lips with their hips grinding into one another for quite some time. Moments turned into what seemed like forever. When he finally pulled away he kissed her forehead, an action that could have made her cry if she let it.

"You're beautiful," Sybil muttered. "Perfect."

It was usually him showering her with compliments and telling her how much he wanted her for all that she was and wasn't. Now, Sybil felt it was her time to remind him of all the reasons she chose him. Even that thought made her laugh; this wasn't a choice for either of them. It just happened and they let it, then and almost everyday since then.

Sybil looked up. She ran a loving hand along his cheek, missing his usual stubble, but enjoying his freshly shaved skin just as much. She didn't care how she had him, she just wanted him, here and now and maybe a few times later, before her parents were to return from holiday in Paris.

The two weeks that they had sustained from all of this dragged on, but it made this moment all the more exciting. His mouth moved down, and as if she knew, she went to reach for the hem of her t-shirt. His hands stopped her, and with a devilish smile, pinned her arms on either side of her head. Her eyes widened in happy shock, and the throbbing between her legs and the dampness that already existed there intensified as he paid special attention to her stomach with his mouth.

At the mercy of his attention, Sybil shivered beneath his touch, causing the skin of her stomach to concave, as goosebumps made it look as if this part of her was almost running away from him. His tongue swirled in her bellybutton causing her hips to push up toward his mouth and away from the mattress. He just smirked, pleased he could make her feel this way. She looked down at him and rolled her eyes, inwardly knowing she deserved such an action for letting them be like this.

Her shirt remained pooled below her breasts until he urged her to sit up. Still, he was in control, and as she raised her hands above her head it was as if he was still holding them there for her. Sybil's hair cascaded down onto her shoulders when the remnant was removed. She was actually wearing a bra, and the thought made him harden. Black lace covered her chest and as beautiful as she looked like this, he somehow wanted it gone, if only to help her out.

He reached behind her to undo the strap, and with the free hand that was not stroking her cheek, he dragged one strap, then the other, off her shoulders until both were hindered by the bend in her elbows. Sybil paid it no mind. It was clear what his intentions were and she loved him for wanting to love her that way, but she had other plans. She couldn't get enough of kissing him, especially as it sent jolts up and down her spine.

With one hand resting above her head and the other resting on her hip, he leaned into her, and as she opened her mouth, he pressed his tongue against hers. The two dueled like this for a bit, but then Sybil sat up and pushed him away to remove her bra. With the offensive material gone, she laid back down and welcomed his weight on top of her. He moved, but she pulled him too, using the back of his neck to insist he taste her more fully again. She smiled through the kiss, and as her eyes fluttered, she felt him do the same.

Their chests were flush against one another, and the friction made him groan. Sybil reached down between them to palm him through his jeans. It was slow at first, with very little pressure, but then, even through his tight denim, he was in her hand and she could feel the heat radiating off of him. She looked at his eyes, asking for permission. He leaned in to kiss her, almost as if his mouth was telling her 'no'.

It wasn't that he didn't want that, and he absolutely wanted to give something similar to her, but he was enjoying the tension they were building, and he wanted his release to come with hers, when he was buried inside of her, feeling her own warmth as they brought one another to an earth-shattering climax. That was what he had been craving for the past two weeks and it was exactly what they both needed.

"I want you," he moaned into her neck. "No, I need you."

Sybil smiled and reached up to caress his cheek. "Yeah?" He just nodded.

She flipped them over so she was on top, and he laid back, allowing her to do exactly what came next. Sybil straddled him so that her back was facing him. Instinctively, he reached his hands out to steady her body. He felt her pressed into his belly button as her slender fingers undid the button on his jeans before pulling the zipper down.

Teasing, Sybil raised her bum in the air, and he gave a light swat to the high waisted jean shorts she wore. She turned around and stuck her tongue out at him but all he could focus on was the faded denim and the way it hugged her backside perfectly. Delicately, she began to roll his jeans down his legs, taking his underwear with them. His cock stood at attention as she freed him, and she made special note to bump it as she crawled down the length of his legs to free him of his pants completely.

Again, he was staring, and he licked his lips as he watched her shorts ride up her legs. Her face was down by his feet now, and she took off his shoes and socks. They fell down over the edge of the bed, and then his jeans and underwear joined them in a messy heap. Sybil stood up now, her head reaching up toward the skylight as she turned to face him once more. Staring at her chest, he watched her breathing quicken while she made quick work of her own shorts.

He couldn't help but sigh when he saw that she wasn't wearing anything underneath them, and as she kneeled down, with one knee on either side of him, he moaned rather loudly at the first contact of naked skin on naked skin. This was exactly what they had been waiting for, to touch and be touched after two weeks and now, a languid hour.

"Fuck, you're stunning," he whispered. He wanted to say something else, but her own lips cut him off, sucking on his bottom lip, urging him to do the same in return. It didn't take much for him to oblige and as he did, he reached down and began to run a finger up and down her wet folds.

"Stop teasing," she murmured with a small laugh. Her words said one thing but her tone said another, and as he stroked her, she stroked him, paying special attention to the pre-cum oozing from the head of his cock.

Immediately, he removed his hand and brought it to replace hers on his rock hard member. She gave in, knowing that she was ready for what he was about to offer.

"We haven't done it like this in awhile," she commented, referring to the way she was straddling him with her back bent and her chest puffed out. Using her arms for leverage, Sybil squatted above him, and he took this opportunity to tease her lower lips with the tip of his head. He used her own wetness to slowly guide himself in, but Sybil had other plans and she took him in one swift motion. Even though the actions were her own, she cried out. It really had been too long and the feeling of him filling her up completely was already enough to send her off the deep end.

Sybil placed her palms flat on his chest and used his taut muscles as leverage to beginning riding him. He shut his eyes, enjoying that with each bump of her clit, he felt himself filling her to the hilt.

She chose the pace, and it was all too clear to him that she had no intention on finding consistency.

"Touch yourself, Syb—"

Her actions cut him off, and already her hands were reaching down between them to rub at her clit. Her breathing was ragged, and the sensation of wanting to let go but being afraid to do so, caused her to slow down and slowly take him in and out of her center as she leaned down to kiss him.

With both of them so close and getting closer with each mutual thrust, they nipped and sucked at one another. Sybil stopped, letting the pressure build in her stomach as he throbbed, motionless, inside of her. Her mouth was dropped open, breathing him in deeply, letting hot air pool in warm water molecules against the skin of his collarbone.

Without a warning, she began to move again, riding him up and down, where he used her hips to guide himself in and out of her.

She was whining now, doing her best to keep her eyes focused on him. He had already lost that battle, allowing his eyes to roll back into his head as he felt his orgasm near.

"Shiiit," she moaned, pulsing herself against his member so he could come with her.

As it hit, she cried out, and he groaned, feeling himself release inside of her. No longer in control of the way they moved, they continued to move against one another, with both of them chanting sentiments that would rock them through their climax.

Before she came down, she cried out: "I love you" and then collapsed against his chest.

It was then that his eyes shot open, as he studied her face and the blush covering her chest and cheeks. "What?"

"What?" She asked, rather innocently, pretending she hadn't just said the very thing she had been keeping from him all along.

"You said-"

But he didn't have a chance to repeat her words, even though just like her, he so desperately wanted to. The door to Sybil's bedroom opened, and Mary appeared. As Sybil's eldest sister took in the scene, she yelped, pulling them out of their moment. She saw her sister's naked back and the way her hair curled down her back. Already deciding that was enough, her body moved for her, shutting the door behind her so she could gain her composure as she began to pace out in the hall.

Sybil groaned and quickly rolled over. Slowly, her actions pulled him out of her, and she watched as his cock rested against his chest. The moment was gone. She didn't care what she looked like as she quickly ran to her closet to grab for her silk robe. She slipped the black material over her shoulders and tied it at the waist. Meanwhile, he just stared. After almost four years of this, had that really just happened?

"Please don't look at me like that," she whispered. She was at the mirror now, running her fingers through her hair and inspecting her makeup only to see that there was not enough time to hide what her sister had just seen.

"Are you kidding?"

"It's nothing," Sybil began. "She didn't see you."

He sighed, turning his focus toward the ceiling. He couldn't look at her, not like this - not after what they had just shared. "It's nothing?" he asked, his voice dripping with hurt. "I really wish you'd stop saying that."

Sybil rolled her eyes and walked to the door. Already she could tell Mary was waiting for her on the other side, and although this is what she had just prepared herself for, she was hoping it wasn't true.

At the door, she breathed in, gaining the little bit of composure she could muster. Her hand reached out for the brass knob and she exhaled, quickly disappearing behind the door so as not to reveal even more of what Mary had seen.

Mary was leaning against the wall with her arms crossed over her chest. Her eyes were fixed on the floor below, but as she heard her sister emerge, she looked up and sighed. "Who is that?" she roared. "Sybil? Answer me!"

"It's no one...a boy," she murmured. It was now her eyes that were fixed on the carpet below. She somehow felt more naked in front of her in her robe than she did minutes ago when she walked in on her in an intimate moment. There was support back in her bedroom, especially when he was inside of her. Now, she felt truly naked, feeling exposed and ashamed just standing in front of her sister like this.

"Do I know him?" Mary raised her voice to make her point.

Sybil looked up; it was suddenly clear that Mary had only seen her, and not the boy she was making love to. It allowed her to settle on words she found fitting. "You've met him," Sybil began. "But you don't know him...not really."

"Sybil, you said—"

"I know what I said, alright? Just don't worry about it."

Mary rolled her eyes. Her tone changed as she dropped her hands down to her sides. "He needs to go. If mum and papa-"

"They haven't found out yet," Sybil whispered.

Mary looked at her sister. She cocked her head to the side as if to examine what she had just said. "What is this? Is this some kind of rebellion? How long has this been going on?"

"It just happened," Sybil said honestly. It wasn't the whole story but it wasn't a lie either. She sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. Her nipples were still hard and her legs still weak, but she stood strong, doing her best to remain calm when all she wanted to do was to break down and cry.

"What if that had been Mama or Papa to walk in? Hmm? What then?" Mary spat. "And you lied to me! You said-"

"Fine."

"Fine?" Mary asked, her eyes widening. "This isn't fine, Sybil! At least lock your door...Christ!"

Sybil said nothing. She had no words to explain herself, or him, and she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to. In fact, the longer Mary stared at her, she was sure she didn't.

"I want him gone," Mary said. "Mama and Papa will be home soon and I don't want to be responsible for this," she sighed. "I swear, Sybil…"

"Okay!" Sybil yelled. "Why are you even here?"

"We're going out to dinner. Didn't they tell you?"

Sybil breathed out. "They don't tell me anything."

"I'm going into the study. Matthew and Max will be here soon and Tom is meeting us here. Just come down when you're done. Sneak him out the back, will you?" Mary suggested casually.

Sybil just nodded, quickly turning back to her bedroom door, wishing to disappear from more than just Mary. Inside, he was already dressed. He was tying the laces of his converse, only stopping when he saw her enter. Quickly though, he returned his attention to the shoes, only taking a moment to share a look of disappointment with her. She sighed and walked to him, sitting next to him on the edge of the bed. Sybil went to rest her head on his shoulder, but he was already standing by then.

He looked down at her and she saw it in his eyes, the look of him giving up.

"She didn't see you," Sybil reaffirmed. "She just wants you gone."

He sighed and she watched him, heading for the door without a second glance back. "Done."

* * *

Uh-oh.

Someone wanted drama and while this has been written for a few weeks now - there it is. And I'd venture to say it's only just begun. But what do I know! I only write it.

x. Elle


	9. Now I'm All Messed Up

**A/N: **Ayah! I received a ridiculous amount of reviews last chapter and I am so honored. Now, the chapter I believe you all have been waiting for...

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"Why do you take me down this road  
If you don't wanna walk with me?  
Why do you exit, go it alone  
When you could just talk to me?  
Go (please stay)  
Go (please stay)  
Go if you want, I can't stop you."  
_Now I'm All Messed Up_ - Tegan and Sara

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Even though she tried not to, Sybil often thought about her and Tom's first fight. She remembered it well, how it was over a comment she made about his mother's work, and he never let her forget that she was the one who started it. Tom had come to the house that day from his apartment in the village to tell Sybil that his mother was officially diagnosed with cancer. When Sybil told him, rather proudly, that she wished his mother would find another job, he didn't cry. Tom yelled at her, and told her that his mother was proud of her profession and he was proud of her for working as hard as she always did. Then he criticized her for not working herself and when Sybil reminded him of her age, he accused her of never wanting to work. The last thing he said to her before slamming her bedroom door was that his mother had cancer and only had a few months to live. Sybil remembered collapsing immediately and crying in a heap on her bedroom floor, wishing her best friend was there to hold her when really she was sure he was wishing the same thing, and rightfully so. She had started that fight but she had also refused to mollify it. She let Tom sulk off and she was too childish and scared to go after him. She wasn't ready at that point in her life to accept his pain as her own, even if, unbeknownst to her, that promise had been made many years before.

It never happened again. As Tom and Sybil grew up, they matured together, mostly. They learned how to talk to one another, and especially how to say things that would change the other's day for the better. This trend continued, even when he found his love of cars and she, her love of dance. It was uninterrupted and always present, even when he moved out to the loft above the garage and she stayed at the main house. Their talks deepened and their jokes came to be more witty, especially late at night when they'd find themselves out on the front lawn staring up at a sky of summer stars. They'd hold hands and support one another, there under the moon and in all of the facets of life that were sure to come.

Sybil was glad they were past all of that now, made clear by the way Tom walked into her room and hugged her after only seeing the side of her face. She softened into the hug and curled into his body, letting him wrap his arms around her as she pressed her head on his shoulder. As she pulled her legs up onto the bed she cocooned herself further into Tom, feeling so small with him so big to lean against. But he'd build her up, that she was sure of.

He pressed a kiss to her temple and she did her best to smile, even as a tear glided down her cheek. She felt guilty and awful, and suddenly found herself hating him for being there the way he always was. Everyone always said how Tom didn't deserve Sybil, as if his background and the profession his mother held was enough to determine that. Sybil knew better, and although she hated to admit it, she knew the truth; maybe it was her that didn't deserve him.

The thought pushed him away from her, but he fought it, and pushed back against her fingers as they created space between them. Eventually he gave in, only to look at her eyes, still glazed over as her chest began to heave from her own erratic breathing.

"Syb?"

"Tom, I—" But she couldn't get the words out. She didn't even know if words existed to articulate what she was feeling. "We—"

"Syb, love? What's wrong?"

"Please don't call me that. Just, please don't—"

"Sybil, what is wrong? You call me crying without an explanation and I come over here to make sure you're okay and you push me away. What is going on?"

Sybil stood up. Her hands flew up the space on either side of her head and began to shake as if she was doing her best to conjure up a coherent thought. "You should date other people," she began. When it finally came, she put one hand on her hip while the other rubbed at her head which was pounding and had been since he first walked in.

Tom sat back on Sybil's bed. He took in her hurried movements and the way her skin was pink, not from the sun of Cape Cod, but from exhaustion and frustration. It appeared, just begging for her to be cut open so it could all spill out. This was everything she had always wanted to say and everything he never wanted to hear. This absolutely could not be happening, he thought.

"Other people? That would imply _we_ were dating and you—"

"You'd be so good for someone if I wasn't around," Sybil tried to point out. "You'd—" she attempted, but was caught off by another sob getting stuck in the back of her throat. She let it out, but found it hard to catch her breath afterward.

"I don't want someone I want—"

"What?" Sybil asked, needing his answer more than she had ever needed anything else in her life. It was like air, something he gave and took from her so easily. She was sure this would leave her breathless, knocked out even, but she was positive it would sound so lovely falling from his lips that at least she'd be numb to the pain it would bring later on.

"I want you!"

Sybil turned away from him and did her best to keep her breathing steady. The throbbing in her head intensified and her stomach hurt, like she wanted to throw up or curl up into a ball and hold herself. This was something she had convinced herself not too long ago that was so very necessary. So she called him, crying as he had mentioned, and asked if he would come over, knowing that with her, his answer was always yes. She didn't picture it playing out like this in her head and she really thought there was no reason to worry. She couldn't imagine herself going through with any of this, the way they had with everything else so many times before.

"This isn't healthy!" she spat back, hoping it would be the thing to push him away. At this point she just wanted him gone and was disappointed to see him stand up and step into her especially as the feeling of him standing next to her like this when she was this close to a breakdown was comforting and just what she had always wanted.

"Says who? Mary? Edith? Your grandmother?" he roared, his arm outstretched toward her door, as if everything beyond it was the world she always felt so judged by.

"As if any of them know about this!" Sybil reminded. She crossed her arms over her chest and took a step away from him.

Tom shook his head and scoffed. "No, of course not! You're ashamed. You don't want to tell them!"

"No, it's none of their business who I fuck, alright Tom?"

Tom's eyes widened at the sound of her voice, always so raspy and soft, screaming at him like this and using those words. That word, in particular. A word they had never used to describe what they were doing before. Really, they never gave it a name. It was void of any adjectives, because there existed no words to properly convey all it secretly meant to the both of them.

"You're right. When you say it like that it is fucked up. We're not healthy..." He started for the door.

"Tom, no, I—"

He turned around, and the kinetic energy he was full of came out in the form of volume in his voice. "You're right. We're done."

"What? Tom! No! I—" She stepped into him but stopped herself. Wasn't this what she had wanted? Wasn't this her original plan, to have him come here so she could call this whole thing off and tell him he deserved better?

Sybil bit her lip and only cried harder. She didn't have plans, at least not ones she was ever allowed to make for herself. Even this fell into that category, and she was hoping, deep down, that he'd fight her on this and tell her they were meant to be together, just the way they both had always wanted.

"What Sybil? Say it!"

She looked up and released her lip. The taste of iron covered her tongue and she was sure she had broken skin. As she gazed up at him through watered over eyes, she sighed deeply, feeling her hands and then the rest of her body begin to shake. "I can't! I don't want to lose you!"

Tom laughed and gave her one last look before heading out the door. "You already have..." She had no choice but to watch him go, just as she had all those years ago.

A long time ago, when he first agreed to all of this, he did so just waiting for her to tell him she loved him. Maybe it wouldn't happen that day or the next, but he knew it would come eventually. He never imagined he would wait three years and never hear it, at least not in the way that mattered. She said it all the time, but that was when they were friends. So casually it would fall from her lips when she was thanking him for helping her with homework or when she needed him to drive her somewhere. But it wasn't the promise he was waiting for.

Then, it was simple, just another three words in her never ending vocabulary. He wanted, maybe even needed her to say it in the way he had felt it. He felt it watching her drop her head back to laugh as he made fun of a teacher at school. He felt it as she hugged onto him when they watched a movie, or when he gave her a piggyback ride down the main staircase. He felt it most when he was inside of her, and it intensified each time and because of that he knew she felt it too.

He knew Sybil and he knew she would never agree to something her heart wasn't fully comfortable with. She was comfortable, though. She was as comfortable as she would ever be that first night and every other one that would certainly follow.

"I love you." It was all he needed but she kept it, her own Crawley secret, one Sybil couldn't even share with Tom.

~!~

"Sybil, darling, Carson's putting dinner out!" Cora called up the stairs. If Sybil were to perform the same action, she'd be scolded for yelling in the house, but somehow her mother's voice appeared sweet, only adding to the anxiety Sybil was feeling.

"Coming!" She responded, still locked away in her bedroom. She threw the pillow she was hugging to her chest into the empty space next to her. Looking around, it was all empty, and she with it; she would have given anything to walk out the door with Tom earlier.

Sybil tied up her hair, thinking all the while that she hoped somehow he'd know and hate her for it. For a reason unknown to her, even after all these years, he loved her hair down. He loved the wave in it and the way it was lightweight and sometimes frizzy. It was so characteristically her; beautifully undone. He told her once how crazy it drove him when she put it up. Just as crazy as it drove him when she left it down, he later added with a kiss to her nose.

Sybil sighed and looked at herself in the mirror one last time before heading downstairs. Her eyes were puffy but less red than they had been. Her skin was flushed, but not enough to send her parents into a panic. They tended not to notice when she was mentally unprepared and only commented on what they could openly observe. At best, she looked acceptable, and she hoped they wouldn't start with her. "Please no fucking dance talk," she muttered, shutting off her light and then closing her bedroom down as she exited.

"Sybil, where's Tom?" Cora asked, still at the bottom of the stairs. She was arranging her latest floral arrangement, a large one that extended out over the oak table in the center of the foyer. Lilies and pale ranunculus completed the bouquet that had been delivered just days before. Already petals were falling, and Cora shook her head, taking notice and now time to clean the table up.

At the sound of her mother's voice she looked up and allowed the noise to process into words. "I don't know," she offered, hoping it was enough.

"He's not upstairs?"

Sybil looked back over her shoulder and up the staircase toward her vacant room. She turned back to her mother and shook her head, all rather slowly. "No, why would he be upstairs?"

"Didn't he come over? I thought—"

"Nope," Sybil said firmly, cutting her mother off as she began to walk off toward the dining room.

"Well can you call him? Your grandmother is back from Paris and should be arriving any minute. He said he'd be here."

"You can call him," Sybil called over her shoulder. She was almost out of the room now, heading past the threshold of the foyer and the hall leading to the sitting room and the dining room.

"Sybil?" Cora called back.

The tone made Sybil stop and turn back to her mother. She inhaled sharply and then: "Yes?"

"Is everything okay?"

"Perfect," Sybil said with a smile, playing the role all good daughters are coerced into learning when their mother's can't help but to be clueless.

In the dining room, Sybil stopped at the table near the door where Carson had set fresh dinner glasses and a pitcher of lavender-citrus water. He walked over to pour it for the youngest Crawley daughter but she smiled and he remained at the door. It was the most sincere her emotions had been all night.

Robert sat at the dinner table checking his Blackberry, clearly waiting for the women to arrive. Sybil rolled her eyes. It was his mother coming for dinner, couldn't he be bothered to answer the door when she arrives?

"Sybil, did I hear your mother say Tom's not coming?"

Sybil nodded, bringing her glass of water back to her place at the dinner table. She did allow Carson to pull out her chair and push it back in behind her, and again, she thanked him with a smile. "He's busy," Sybil stated plainly as she put down her glass of water and reached for the napkin on her plate.

"Busy? Your grandmother—"

"I know. Mum told me. I didn't know," she lied. It would have been more appropriate to say that she didn't remember about her Granny's visit or even that she wasn't listening. There were very few times in life where Sybil just did not know something.

She released the napkin she was holding from its ring and placed the porcelain ring up next to her glass before unfolding the soft linen and placing it across her lap. It was then that she noticed the wrinkles in her dress and the rest of the evidence of her exhausting afternoon. There was a stuffed up tissue in the pocket of her grey cardigan and much to her amusement, she had forgotten to put shoes on before coming downstairs. Her bright red toenails curled and scratched at the carpet, hoping to go unnoticed from all in the room, especially her mother and grandmother who had just entered.

"Sybil, darling, say hello," Cora instructed.

Sybil sat up straighter and did her best to fake a smile. "Hi Granny."

"Hello, dear. What? Handicapped are we? Or is your generation really as lazy as all of these papers say?"

Sybil smiled, this time finding actual amusement in her grandmother's words. Violet Crawley was abrasive but she was honest, and Sybil couldn't fault her for that. It was a nice reprieve from the treatment this house usually received.

She stood, no longer caring about her bare feet or her somewhat disheveled appearance. Her grandmother gladly accepted the hug she offered and didn't make a comment or a glance toward her feet. This was something Cora was unable to do, and she shot a very stern look in her daughter's direction as they all took their seats at the dinner table.

In silence, they passed carefully dished platters of salmon and rice and salad back and forth between one another. Finally, it was Cora who spoke up. "Sybil, why don't you tell your Gran about your new plans?"

"New plans?" Violet asked, passing the platter of fish to her son. "What are these new plans, Sybil? What is it this time? Is it peacework again?" she inquired, leaning into Cora.

"Not peacework, no," Cora brushed the question off with a smile before returning her attention to her daughter. Sybil sat staring at her plate, barely full as it usually was, made all the more clear by how much room there was for her to roll a pea around with the tong of her fork. "Sybil?"

Sybil looked up and smiled. "What plans, Mama?"

Cora smiled, trying to remain patient with her daughter in this state. As she watched Sybil mature she noticed their relationship as mother and daughter change. It started with the little rebellions here and there: the hunger strikes to support Israeli-Palestinian peace-talks, or even her most recent habit of forgoing a bra. Her mother called it growing up, and her father called it feminism, something they both swore was encouraged by Tom. They'd only accuse and never once give their daughter the credit she deserved as a free thinking young woman. She was not a child, but she knew that she'd forever be treated as one. Her mother had told her many times how she would always be her baby girl, and the thought made Sybil cringe at first until late at night when she really thought about it, then it would reduce her to tears. She wished to be close to her mother the way Mary was, but it just wasn't in her. Sybil didn't need Cora the way Mary or Edith ever did. She was more of an adult and had been more mature than her sisters had ever been at her age. At a time in her life when she was told she would start to build a sort of friendship with her parents she only felt the pull away from them to grow even stronger.

"Your college plans," Cora reminded. "Juilliard."

Violet's head shot up. "That American school?"

"Yes," Sybil whispered, returning her attention back down to her plate. She picked up the pea she had been pushing around and bit it off her fork.

"Sybil!" Robert roared at the sound of teeth hitting metal. "Use your fork properly!" Sybil continued to look down, paying no attention to the array of glances she was receiving from her family at the moment.

"Sybil, darling, what is this school? What happened to Cambridge?"

"I don't want to go to Cambridge, Granny. I never wanted to—" She stopped, holding a tight grip on her fork now. Her other hand was down in her lap, peeling at the skin on her thumb until it was raw. She wouldn't notice the peeled skin or the flaked blood until later, when time was her own and she was allowed to actually think. "I never wanted to go to Cambridge," Sybil finally managed, doing her best to remain calm. She picked at her salad and forced herself to eat a bite of her salmon. It was all delicious, but she wasn't hungry and she suddenly regretted giving herself such a large serving of rice.

"This is news to me," Violet stated, looking to Robert and Cora for support.

It came all too quickly as Robert sighed and nodded at his mother. "Us too."

"Actually, I mentioned it once," Sybil said, looking up and putting her fork down. "Maybe you two weren't listening."

"Sybil, don't be bold, please!" Cora insisted, her own voice raising as she requested composure from her daughter.

"I'm not being bold, I'm being honest," Sybil spat. "There's a difference."

"Sybil, that is enough!" Robert quickly stated, doing his best to put this entire thing to rest so they could move on. Unlike his wife, he didn't need to raise his voice to let his daughter knew he was serious. His tone did that all on its own.

Violet sipped at her water and then set the glass back down. The loose threads lining the designer jacket she wore caught Sybil's attention and she watched in aggravation as her grandmother played along; a willing participant in a game she'd never understand. "Sybil, so tell me, does Juilliard have a law program?"

Sybil shook her head. "Nope. I'm going for dance."

"Dance? Like ballet?" Violet scoffed. "That's not a profession, m'dear."

Sybil rolled her eyes and exhaled. The napkin on her lap had become her own personal stress ball and as she thought of a polite response she continued to bunch the material into her hand only to pull it apart again. "It will be for me."

"So what?" Violet asked, her voice already coated with humor. Her grandmother did this often. Her eyes would widen and her voice would go up an octave as she did her best to gather an audience that would find her joke as amusing as she did. "You dance until you're thirty and then retire? I do hope you plan to marry rich."

"I don't want to dance professionally," Sybil corrected. "And besides, even if I did, I'd budget my money so a man never had to take care of me. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

Sybil thought back to Cape Cod. She saw the beach and the late night walks to get frozen yogurt and she saw and heard the way Tom dropped his head back to laugh at something ridiculous she had said. She also remembered how she had smiled at her American grandmother's comment about her needing Tom in her life so she could sleep on his couch in their later years. Somehow a joke made across the ocean was no longer funny when presented at a dinner table to her parents. Suddenly it was cruel and degrading and smiling was the last thing Sybil wanted to do.

"Oh, dearie, don't be so sensitive. That's not like you," Violent commented with another laugh. Sybil watched her grandmother sip at her water again and so soon everything she did irritated the young girl. With this in mind, she didn't dare look at her mother or father, knowing her eyes would draw the same conclusions once set upon them.

"I can be whatever I please," Sybil commented.

"Oh, darling, these feminist books you read have fogged your brain. Have a laugh with your family, will you?"

Sybil glared at her grandmother. "No," she bit back.

Violet looked up. "What?"

"Sybil what did you just say to your grandmother? Apologize!" Robert insisted.

Sybil glared at her father, taking him in for the first time that night. He was wearing one of his favorite tweed suit jackets with a fresh pressed pair of jeans. She assumed he was wearing his favorite tasseled loafers as well but didn't care enough to look. He was the same father he always was, so put together and lying to the world. "I'm sorry Granny! It's not you I'm mad at, I suppose," Sybil began. She threw down her napkin and pushed her chair back away from the table so she could stand. As far as she was concerned, dinner was over. It ended the minute her mother silently criticized her bare feet.

Cora sighed and buried her head in the palm of her hand. As she looked back up she stared at her daughter, heading for the door. "Sybil! You have not been dismissed! Come back here right now. You are being so rude!"

"Oh please, mother!"

"Sybil! What has gotten into you?" Robert asked. He was sitting forward now, losing the bit of decorum he held when his daughter began to yell.

"Me? What has gotten into me? You know, you two always have so many questions for me and not once do you ever stop and self-evaluate for yourselves! Why don't you tell Gran that you two don't sleep in the same bed and haven't for almost two years now!"

"Sybil, please…" Cora gritted. She was facing her daughter at the door but her arms gripped the table, needing support.

"Please? Are you fucking kidding me?" Sybil croaked out causing everyone's eyes, even Carson's, to widen. Sybil had quite the mouth, something even Tom commented on, but she had never, not even once, cussed in front of her parents. That was a line even she swore she'd never cross. "Tell her Dad! Tell Gran why!"

"Is this true?" Violet asked, her eyes darting back and forth between Robert and Cora. "What have you two done to upset the child?"

"We haven't—"

"No, they won't tell you!" Sybil commented. There were tears forming in her eyes and her hands were both placed steadily on her hips, but she took notice of neither. She only saw the way her parent's avoided her glance, and with it, the truth. "They can't even acknowledge it themselves, right mum and dad?"

The phone in the library began to ring but it was ignored as Sybil continued, her voice booming. "Papa shagged the temp housekeeper three years ago, didn't you?"

"Sybil, that is enough!" Cora roared, now on her feet.

Sybil ignored her mother and stepped further into the room. She had been waiting to say those words for three years and now that they were out she desperately wished she didn't have to reveal them for her parents. There was confidence here, and for a split moment Sybil found herself thinking of Tom and how proud of her he would be. "Is it, papa? Are you sure?" Sybil ran a frustrated hand up to her forehead and dropped her head back to groan. "Why can't anyone in this house ever tell the truth?" And then: "And why the fuck is nobody answering the phone? Christ!"

Sybil disappeared out the door and ran to the library to answer the phone. Her mother immediately began to weep as she sat back down, covering her head in her hands as she bent forward into her lap. Violet rubbed at her daughter-in-law's back and shot her son, his face red with embarrassment, a look of disgust.

Sybil ran back into the room. There wasn't a thing she could have said to add to the distress here, and yet her pale face spoke volumes. "Tom's in the hospital."

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Is it bad that I both can't wait and am completely terrified to see everyone's reaction to this chapter? Eep! Let's hear it, babes!

x. Elle


	10. Your Ex-Loved Is Dead

**A/N: **Um, since when did I become the luckiest writer? 22 reviews?! That is insane! Thank you, thank you, thank you! I really can't get over how lovely you all have been with following this. It's overwhelming in the best way possible.

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"Live through this, and you won't look back.  
There's one thing I want to say, so I'll be brave  
You were what I wanted  
I gave what I gave  
I'm not sorry I met you  
I'm not sorry it's over  
I'm not sorry there's nothing to save..."  
_Your Ex-Lover Is Dead_ - Stars

* * *

_He was the first thing that came to her mind right after it happened. Immediately, she began screaming for him, needing him in a way she was not yet familiar with. "Tom!" And then again, even louder: "Tom!"_

_She ran up the stairs toward his bedroom and pounded on the outside of his door. When he opened it, she walked away, giving him no option but to follow. "Sybil? Syb?" he called after her._

_At the end of the hall she quickly turned around, their faces just inches apart as their bodies collided. It was then that she collapsed, or would have, had he not been there to catch her._

_"Oh, Tom…" Behind her hands she cried, using his broad frame as a wall to shut the rest of the world out._

_"Syb? What is it?" He pushed her hair off her face, tucking stray strands behind her ears so he could see her more clearly. She continued to cry, loud heavy sobs leaving her mouth, causing her shoulders to heave. She was pained, and he hadn't seen her like this in almost a year. The last time was at his mother's funeral, when she cried more than he did. Looking back on it, she was crying for the both of them, showing the feelings he was unable to. In the confines of his room later, in the week when the gifts stop arriving at the house and all of the guests left town, Tom remembered breaking down with Sybil on the floor of her bathroom. It was almost like this, but now she needed him and there wasn't just sadness here, but anger as well._

_"My fucking dad…"_

_With the pad of his thumb, Tom wiped away a tear threatening to spill down her cheeks. "What happened? Are you okay?"_

_Sybil walked into her room and Tom followed. She was normally so vocal and so strong. It was clear that something had broken her and he was just waiting for her to give him her words so he could fix it._

_Immediately, Sybil went for the space of carpet directly in front of her bed. As she often did when she was sad, she pulled her knees into her chest and buried her chin in the valley they created. "He's fucking cheating on my mom, you know."_

_Tom locked the door he was still leaning against. Hearing such an admission, he quickly walked toward her, and sat down. "What?"_

_"It's been going on for months apparently! With that new housekeeper!" Sybil wiped at her eyes, thanking herself for not putting on any makeup before dance that morning. "FUCK!" she screamed, causing Tom to laugh. "He's a prick."_

_Tom nodded, a smile still etched across his features. "Yeah, he is."_

_"I stopped by his office to see if he wanted to walk home the way we always used to and there she was, half fucking naked on his desk...oh God…"_

_Tom didn't need to hear anymore, especially if it was only going to continue to upset his best friend. Assuring her of this, he pulled her in close, allowing her to use his chest and any other part of him for comfort. While she did this, he kissed the top of her head. It was then that she looked up, gazing at him for answers she was sure he didn't have. Boldly, she reached for his cheeks and pulled him down to her, seizing his lips against hers. It was warm and slow at first, but it rose to be passionate and hungry. She had kissed him before but never like this. Now that she had, she was sure she couldn't revert to her old ways, when her lips would just barely touch his cheek. This felt too right. He felt too right._

_Such things were only confirmed as he reached for her cheeks and kissed her back. It made her smile, how simple it was for him to all of a sudden want her too. She didn't doubt it or him for even a second - his mouth whispered secrets upon her lips, saying everything they had been too scared to acknowledge before. There was love here, and she felt it in the way his lips were so ardently gentle against hers. She had never been kissed like this, and until now she wasn't sure she had ever needed or wanted to be. Slowly she was learning that it was highly unlikely she would ever want the kiss of another boy. She'd be content like this forever, her arms resting steadily against his chest as he pulled her in close._

_His hands were traveling down, and although she had been told to reject such advances from boys her age, Tom wasn't just a boy to her. And now, even here, it was all so clear that he had never been just a boy to her. She only wished she hadn't been so silly, so young and naive, turning a blind eye so strongly that even her own feelings were denied._

_"Syb—" A breathless Tom pulled away. He looked at her, her sad eyes shadowed by the plumpness of her already full lips. She smiled, and it was all he needed to grab the back of her neck and reconnect them._

_Soon they were up on their knees, then their feet. They never detached, and now needy lips were met with equally needy hands. It was Sybil who made the first move, slipping her hand under the henley he wore to caress the skin made taut by the muscles underneath. Such a thing was normally irrelevant to her, but she knew each muscle was a memory of a Sunday morning spent in the body shop at work._

_"Can we take this off?" Sybil asked, her fingers already answering the question for him. He nodded, and they pulled away as their eyes opened for the first time since this all began. Teasingly, she inched the soft material up the length of his torso. He raised his hands above his head allowing her to rid him of the material. When it was gone, she returned her attention to his lips and the way his thumb caressed her earlobe as they tasted one another._

_Sybil pulled away and went to sit on her bed. He watched her go, crawling to where her pillows were so she could lay back. Taking this as a hint, he joined her, and she dropped her head back to laugh as he covered her body with his own and began to seize her lips before claiming the skin on her neck. "Tommm," she moaned, loving the feeling of his lips above her collarbone. She fisted his hair then ran her hands down the expanse of his back where freckles dotted pale skin, just begging to be kissed._

_He looked at her again, knowing that now that he was given permission he'd never get enough of her like this. "Aren't you going to undress me?"_

_"Syb…"_

_"What?" she giggled. "We're just having fun."_

_"Yeah, but are you ready to have that much fun?" He raised his eyebrow. "With me?" he added, pointing his hand inward to his chest._

_It wasn't something that required thought. As fucked up as this was, it was also so beautiful, and just how she had always imagined it. "Yes," she whispered._

_"What?"_

_"Yes, Tom, I want you to fuck me."_

_"Sybil, please don't say it like that…"_

_She nodded and then pulled him in so she could press a comforting kiss to his soft lips. "I'm sorry," she said, pulling away only enough so that their foreheads were touching. "I've wanted you for so long, Tom…"_

_He nipped at her lips. "God, me too."_

_"I don't know what this is, but I need it."_

_His expression dropped but the feeling he wished to be present in his gut was absent. He needed this just the way she did, and he'd give her the world if that's what she wanted. "Yeah," he finally said, agreeing._

_"You're my best friend. I'm not going to regret this."_

_No more words were said as Tom leaned into her and began kissing her again. Once more, it was slow and chaste, then quickly made to be fiery, leaving them both breathless as Tom pulled her shirt up over her head. His mouth went dry at the sight of his best friend laying before him in yoga shorts and a bra. It was bright pink, with lace along the cups. "You're beautiful, Syb."_

_She thanked him with a kiss, loving this new feeling of his hands, so large and calloused, caressing her sides and her tummy. Her olive complexion contrasted with his, made especially evident as he slipped a hand beneath her shorts to tease her over her underwear. Only she wasn't wearing any, and his fingers came into immediate contact with the wet skin between her legs. "Christ, Syb," he managed. She didn't stop him though. In fact, she only bucked her hips toward him as her mouth dropped open wide, loving the feeling of him adoring this part of her body._

_Ragged breathing filled the room as he ran his fingers up and down her slick slit. Not wanting to go too far, he removed his hand and licked her juices off his skin. The sight of her best friend doing this drove her wild, and the blush she felt in her cheeks was replaced by complete and utter love for this boy she was certain had become a man without needing her permission. She hoped, looking down at her thin frame and her still growing breasts, that she was enough. All was forgotten though, as he moved back up to her, one hand cradling her head as he tasted her lips while the other palmed her chest._

_Tom paid special attention to her left breast, then her right. When it appeared she wanted more, he pulled out of the kiss and searched her eyes for an answer. She sat forward and he unclasped her bra. Immediately his face was greeted with the sight of her spilling out of her cups. "Have you done this before?"_

_Tom furrowed his brows. "What? No. Who would I..."_

_Her nipples hardened from the cold, and the sensation mixed with the look on his face was suddenly making her extremely self conscious. Not wanting to pay attention to that, or for him to feel like he had to tell her she was beautiful again, no matter how much he believed it, she pulled him back down to her._

_Nibbling at his bottom lip, Sybil cocked her head to the side and pushed her tongue past her own lips to tickle his. He granted her the access she was craving, and soon, they were like this for what felt like forever, all of it happening quite naturally._

_Her next step caught him off guard. When she first touched him, before they had even gotten onto the bed, she saw the bulge in his already tight jeans. Even as a best friend, she loved his ass, and several times she found herself dreaming of what he looked like from the waist down, all of him, even the parts that scared her a bit, bare for only her to see._

_"Fuck, Syb, be gentle."_

_Sybil giggled into the back of her hand. "Sorry. I'm feeling a little underdressed here…"_

_Tom shook his head and got up onto his knees so that taking off his belt would happen more easily. Looking down, he was unable to see that she had crawled toward him and was now kneeling as well. She stilled his hands with her own. He knew what this meant and he let it happen as her hands began to undo his belt before pulling the brown leather out of the loops. "Have you ever-"_

_Sybil glanced up to him and cut him off with her look. "Are you kidding?"_

_"We don't have to. I mean, you don't have to…"_

_Sybil smiled and kissed his cheek. "I know," she said cheerily before returning her attention to the hard length of him beneath his waistband. His belt was thrown to the ground, adding to the clutter on Sybil's floor. She took her time with the buttons on his jeans, but slid the zipper down with a look of satisfaction on her face, one that continued as his briefs came into view. "Can we take your jeans off?"_

_Tom laughed and muttered a simple "Yeah" before performing that very task. He laid back and waited for her to make a move. He was tender and soft with her like this, but he allowed such a thing because he knew it was exactly what she craved. Sybil's face was just as concentrated as it would be if he were helping her with her statistics homework. He thought of her, the end of a pen in her mouth as she stared down at a problem she couldn't quite comprehend. Suddenly such a vision was sinister, and as Tom brought himself out of his reverie and looked down, he was faced with a similar view._

_Sybil had pulled his boxer-briefs down and off his legs, leaving him naked before her. His cock stood at attention and she grabbed for it, applying a little pressure as she did so which almost made him lose it right there. He didn't though and she smiled, seeing the pleasure evident in his eyes. "Is this oh-" She couldn't get the rest of it out. He was already nodding, still amazed that it was his best friend, his Sybil, to make him feel this good._

_Her small hand milked him, up and down, while her other hand moved further down to play with his balls. This caused him to release a guttural groan. Sybil smiled up at him, then kissed the head of his cock, already coated with pre-cum._

_Sitting back, Sybil kicked off her shorts so that she and Tom were in the same state of undress. At the same time, they both reached for one another, finding themselves already missing the things promised as their lips met. With their bodies exposed, such kisses, no matter how slow and passionate, were electric. She felt his length on her thigh and his hands on her breasts. His lips dipped down to her chin, then her neck, then the valley of her chest, and as he moved, she reached down to stroke him._

_When it was time for them to come together, no words were said. She grabbed for a condom from her bedside table and sheathed him in it. This too, was natural, as she reached down between them to guide him toward her entrance. With an arm on either side of her head, he kissed her lips. Pulling away, she nodded, not wanting to prolong this any longer. Like most girls, she had heard things, things about pain and bleeding and regret. She had also heard about how unloving and empty their first time was, both of which were completely proved wrong by Tom. He was hers, if only like this. She was lucky though, that much she knew, and she knew that if it ever came to it, she'd give him so much more if it meant him being hers forever._

_"Just go," she whispered._

_Slowly, he pushed inside of her. Up near the pillows, Sybil closed her eyes tightly. "Sybil, love?" He didn't know where the name came from, it just seemed natural to call her that when she was in a little bit of pain._

_Like his nickname for her, she had no idea where the stinging in between her legs had originated from. Tom was big, maybe bigger than she had imagined, but she thought he was manageable. Now, as he spread her further, she cried out, quickly clasping her palm over her open mouth. "Syb, I'm going to pull out, I didn't think this was supposed to hurt you—"_

_"No!" she said, grabbing ahold of his arm to slow everything down. "No! That'll hurt even more."_

_"Fuck, you're bleeding," he commented, looking down to where their bodies met._

_"A lot?"_

_"No...fuck," he settled. "Are you okay?"_

_Sybil reached up and kissed him quickly before pushing away the fringe at his hairline. "You're fine, you're just...big."_

_Tom smirked. "Are you sure you don't want me to stop?"_

_Was that a smile she briefly saw on his face? She wanted to smack him, but as her walls began to stretch to fit him, she was enjoying his position hovering above her too much. Sybil shook her head, her eyes still tightly shut. "No, keep going, it's fine now…"_

_"Are you sure?"_

_"Yes, Tom, please!" she begged, her words coming out with much more volume and force. She sounded angry, but he knew there was more to it than that. Still, he began to move, slowly at first then with more rhythm. "Oooh," she moaned, getting used to the feeling of his hips touching hers as he filled her completely._

_When he saw that she was comfortable, Tom continued to pump in and out of her. He looked down, as did she, to the point where they were connected. To Sybil there was nothing more beautiful and for Tom, nothing was hotter than seeing their bodies connect in such a way. He kissed her shoulder, feeling the coil in his stomach tighten as he reached his climax._

_"You're gentle," she remarked before feeling his tip pound into her center with such force that she was about to let go right there. "Are you close?"_

_Tom was biting his lip, unable to speak. He just nodded, feeling himself ready to release. "Fuck," he murmured, causing Sybil to giggle. Her climax was about to hit but she was holding on, waiting for him._

_"Tell me when you're ready—"_

_"Are you waiting for—shite…"_

_"Mhm. You can let go Tom…"_

_With fury, he obliged, filling her up as she hit a similar wall, one that left them both crashing down onto the bed. He collapsed on top of her, a bead of sweat falling down his forehead as he nestled into her neck, smelling her faded perfume and the natural sweetness of her skin. "Can I pull out now?"_

_"Do you want to?"_

_"No."_

_"Then don't."_

_After a moment of silence, he spoke again, changing course. "Can I hold you?"_

_"Yes, please." She said, beaming as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in close. She rested her head on his chest, kissing his shoulder before settling into him. Tom leaned down and grabbed for the covers still crumpled at the bottom of the bed where Sybil had kicked them earlier. All of that had just been so fumbling and awkward but also beautiful and perfect and as Tom kissed Sybil, she was sure that here, whatever this was, wherever they were, was exactly what she needed and had always wanted with him._

_"Tom?"_

_"Yeah, Syb?"_

_"Nobody can know about this…"_

_The feeling he had looked for before was still gone. He just nodded, pulling her naked form tighter into him. As she turned away she nestled back into his chest allowing him to kiss the back of her neck right above where her spine began. There was strength here usually but as today had taught them, it was okay to be vulnerable and it was okay to feel, even if only with one another._

_"Of course."_

_He accepted the words she hated to have to say. She was sure that her own insecurities would push him out of her bed and back down the hall, possibly even ruining their friendship. Instead, he held her tightly, even more tightly than before, and promised her love she was sure she would never find with any other boy as long as she lived. Love she wasn't sure she deserved._

_These words and many of the others they shared before falling into slumber are what had Tom returning the next day, and all the others that were sure to follow. She couldn't push him away even if she wanted to, and even if she wanted to, he would never really let her go._

~!~

Sybil opened her eyes and thought how she had gotten here. It was a car accident, only Tom wasn't driving his car. He was on his new motorbike, only weeks out of the garage, when a car's brakes gave out forcing the vehicle to run a red light. Tom swerved and was thankfully not hit by the car, but he skid off his bike, and the hot and heavy metal landed on his leg. The entire left side of his body was scraped up with the leg of the same side fractured in two places. A particular note was made that his helmet kept his head protected, but that there was bruising on his neck from where the metal and glass rested uncomfortably after his fall. Upon hearing this, Sybil thought about how she loved to caress his neck, even before all of this happened, and how he loved the way her fingers danced up from the bone at the top of his spine to the indent at his nape. She wondered if he'd let her touch him there now, or if he'd wince at the pain felt, both by his injury and her delicate fingers.

The same woman that had ran the light immediately called the police and when they arrived, Tom was quickly airlifted to the hospital. The nurse relayed to Sybil that he was already in London and after seeing his paperwork, moved to a more private part of the hospital where it was normal for the son of a politician to be monitored. The nurses there worked shorter shifts and were a bit more experienced and the doctors were some of the best in the country. Tom was safe here, even as three nurses locked Sybil out of his room while they tried to stabilize his vital signs.

Her parents had still not arrived and she was sure her train ride in and her run down the street and up to this floor was far more rushed than anything they could manage by car. She wanted to hate them and to think the worst, but they weren't bad people. They were parents and human at that, their flaws were glaring now, maybe even to the rest of the world, but not once had Sybil ever doubted the care they felt in their hearts for her best friend. He wasn't their real son, or a close second the way Matthew seemed to be, but they'd do anything for him and if Sybil trusted anything right now, it was that.

On a bank of seats pressed against the wall outside of several private rooms, Sybil fidgeted, shifting back and forth the foot that she sat on while the other dangled down to the floor. In her hand she held Tom's rosary, the one she had insisted the nurse retrieve from his bloodied jean pocket. It was pristine as it always had been and Sybil thought of his mother and said a prayer to the God Helen Branson always believed so strongly in to watch over Tom all the while chanting to herself that he would be fine.

Sybil played back a million of the ways this afternoon could have gone differently and all of the ways she could have said she loved him or showed him something of the same. These were statements she swore she had made so many times before but it was clear now, when it was the only thing she was forced to think about, how all he wanted was to hear "I love you" over and over again if only so he could give it back to her. They loved one another, Sybil thought, fighting back another sob that eventually had her giving in, doubled over, crying into her lap.

This was where her parents found her as they turned the corner with a distressed Mary and Edith. Mary ran to her sister and touched her back, an action that made Sybil immediately pull away as she pushed back at her hairline with both hands. Her face was red and her nose runny. None of it mattered now; she was sure she looked like the mess she was, so undone and obvious. It was about time, Sybil sarcastically thought as her eyes traveled northward up to her parents. It was best that they find out like this. She'd tell anyone whatever they wanted if it meant Tom would be awake and understanding of why she always kept them a secret. But of course he always understood, and it was his patience really that made this all the more painful and real.

"Sybil, darling, are you okay?"

She turned away. Mary seemed to be warm, and if she was to invite anyone in, it would be her, but suddenly Sybil felt cold and she hugged herself, pulling at the sides of her cardigan, an action that ironically stretched the fabric and let it drape further away from her body.

"Sybil, please, talk to me. This isn't—"

"You don't know what this is, Mary!" Sybil looked up to her sister and broke down again. Just seeing her sister's face, just as pale as her own complexion currently was, so genuine and patient, was enough to break her down again. The words she had planned for this moment bubbled in the back of her throat, subsiding as the anguish of her best friend being hurt began to reemerge. Sybil pictured him in the middle of the road, alone, and maybe thinking of her in the same way she had when she ran all the way down the driveway at Downton, into the village and then to the train station. A similar hurried action, now with legs like jelly, brought her to this hospital and this chair where she was allowed to imagine him motionless and with eyes closed, staring up at the speckled hospital ceiling.

She stood up and walked to the other side of the hall. She rested her palms flat against the textured wall, cursing its flimsy nature and the awful yellow color it was painted. She balled her fist and pounded at the surface, one swift and prolonged thud, causing a painting that was hanging down the hall to shake. Her forehead rested there for a moment, giving up, allowing her breathing to calm, if only a little bit.

Behind her, Edith and Mary shared a look, one that even sisters who rarely got along knew meant so much. Their eyes darted back and forth while their lips said nothing. Edith bent her head in indignation toward their parents but Mary quickly shook her head, dismissing the suggestion. Instead, she joined Sybil in standing, this time approaching the young girl with much more care than before. Like a ghost, Sybil turned away, avoiding all glances as she collapsed again, using the same wall she had just previously cursed to aid her in the process. In a ball on the hospital floor she watched as nurses and doctors walked by, appearing in shadows at her feet to ask if she was okay and then offering her family tea or something to eat. They all rejected their offers but thanked the staff, and then returned their attention back to Sybil, still in a heap, crying into her knees which were pulled tightly into her body. Her face was hidden, but they could hear the way her lungs inhaled and exhaled, wet heavy breaths. They said nothing, and offered no condolences. What do you say to make something like this better?

Finally, "Miss Crawley?" All four Crawley women looked to the nurse at the end of the hall, dressed in her green scrubs with her hair pulled back away from her face. Sybil stood up, understanding and possibly stating as well that the call was for her. "You can see him now."

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How many of you saw the chapter title and actually thought Tom was going to be dead?

Name of the game: Trust me. I may be cruel and there will be something later in this story that will have you all cursing me to the heavens but I promise it will all work out for these two. Eventually. Or maybe soon. You'll have to read to find out...

x. Elle


	11. Nineteen

**A/N: **I know this site was having issues on Monday morning when I posted Chapter 10. It's possible you didn't receive an alert for the last chapter because of this. Make sure you read that before this!

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"I'm tired of playing the part  
Of a little girl who couldn't use her heart.  
I'm broken, torn and scarred.  
From all the poison, you threw at us.  
But you won´t know, cause you can´t see  
The tattered child, you've made of me  
You´ll follow me into my dream.  
And spit your words so desperately,  
And I'll wash my hands of this tragic mess,  
But truth can't cure the blind, if they don't care to see."  
_Nineteen_ - Alex G.

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Inside, Tom laid motionless, reminding Sybil of funerals she had attended, and how humans have the ability to look so happy when approaching, or at, death. It was a morbid thought, one she would undoubtedly share with Tom if he were here, as in standing beside her to nestle back into, and not on this stiff bed with these awful sheets and a simple white shirt. She wondered if he had requested such a thing or if they were being nice, assuming that no teenage boy would prefer to wear the ugly hospital gowns they always provided. If Tom was standing behind her and she delivered such a comment to him, he'd laugh, but then chide her for such a negative thought. He'd know, deep down though, that there was something beautiful about the way Sybil's mind worked and how she was able to pick up on things like that and still believe that the world at its core was good.

She stood at the door and took him in. First, it was the way both of his hands were flat at his sides, so unlike him. If he was awake, and she hoped he would be soon, he'd be laying on his side, using one arm as a pillow while the other rested lazily on his hip. In bed, he was forever bending and moving, to get himself and her comfortable. She'd smack him with a pillow and tell him to stop turning and he would laugh and throw the same pillow back at her, because she was known to do the same thing.

There was a plastic clamp on his left index finger monitoring his heartbeat, and on the other side of him, an IV drip going into his inner arm. Sybil assumed that was to keep him hydrated, but she stood back, not rushing to him in the way she had imagined. It helped that a nurse was still circling him, pressing buttons on one of the monitors near his bed and fixing the blankets around his feet. She wished she knew how to do all of these medical things, but was fairly confident she could, at the very least, manage the blankets. Sybil sighed, just wanting to take care of him the way he always took care of her. She wanted to crawl into bed with him and hold him, and make him promise to her, even without words, that he'd do his best to get better.

Sybil didn't notice, but the rest of her family, now standing behind at the precipice between the hallway and Tom's room, did. The nurse attending to Tom was smiling at Sybil, taking in the way she stood hunched over, with one arm crossed across her stomach creating a shelf for the other to rest on as it reached up and played idly with her lips.

"You can touch him," the nurse said, with a laugh. "He's not going to break. He's actually doing really great."

The nurse stepped back allowing Sybil to walk forward toward the bed. Immediately, her hands were on him, touching his shoulders and his hands before returning their attention to his face. His skin, always so lovely, was somehow without a mark, and Sybil took this as her cue to run a few fingers along his hairline and then down the lines of his cheek. Briefly, she realized that this was the most intimate her parents had seen her be with Tom, but she didn't care. They were also taking this time to rid themselves of their coats and introduce themselves to the nurse, Shelly, who they also thanked upon hearing that she'd be his nurse for the remainder of his stay.

"I'm serious, he's a strong kid. The fractures in his leg are a bit rough, but it's nothing the doctor plans to operate on. He has three temporary nails in his leg that were put in on the ride over. As long as he stays off of it and is patient with the healing process, we should be able to take those out in a few weeks," Shelly explained.

"Why is he asleep?" Edith asked, throwing the question over her shoulder just long enough to miss the kiss Sybil had placed to the corner of Tom's mouth. Mary saw it though, and the action made her smile.

"He's in pain. The extent of the scraping caused by him rolling and then eventually skidding with the bike on his leg has left parts of his skin raw. He's on a high level of codeine right now, but it's just like he's sleeping. He should be out for a few hours," Shelly sighed. "He can't really hear you and he'll definitely be a bit groggy when he wakes up, but his brain function has been checked and all is fine. We gave him a substance to help aid in the healing process too, but his body is already reacting nicely. There's a large gash on his lower left back that is already scabbing, which is remarkable, really."

Sybil turned back to the nurse and smiled, as if to thank her for all that she had done. The sign of affection was returned but retracted when she saw that Sybil had no other aim right now than to stare at Tom and love every inch of him that she could with gentle, outreached fingers running up and down the smooth skin of his arms.

"I'll be at the nurses station all night if you need me. His daily nurse is a girl named Keira. She'll pick up my shift around seven tomorrow morning."

"How much pain did you say he was in?" Sybil asked, pulling Shelly back into the room.

"Enough," she assured, causing Sybil's lips to purse into a tight-lipped smile. "It's all decreasing the longer he sleeps though. And then hopefully by the time the medicine wears off not only will he be awake, but he'll be in less pain."

"He's okay like this, though?"

Shelly nodded, and even laughed a bit. She was amused by Sybil and she wanted to get to know her, if the others in the room, her family, hadn't made such an awkward business of this all. It was almost as if being drawn to Sybil and her quirks was something for them to roll their eyes at, Shelly observed. "He's fine. He's in good hands here, I promise."

Sybil nodded. "No, of course. I'm sorry," she offered. "I didn't mean to—"

Shelly smiled. "You're fine. Ring if you need anything, alright? And I'm going to close this," she said, referring to the door her hand was already reaching out for. "I'll have them send in tea shortly."

Cora filled in the chair next to where Edith and Mary sat on the couch. They would have offered it to Sybil if the girl wasn't already pulling a chair from near the window to occupy the space at Tom's bedside. She didn't sit down though, and remained leaning over the rail of his hospital bed, running a cool palm across his forehead or dancing her knuckles across his cheek. It was whatever he needed, and they were sure she'd be here even after the rest of the family was all ushered out.

The tea was brought in, and they all took their time making themselves a cup. Mary asked Sybil if she wanted any, but the youngest Crawley daughter shook her head and went back to staring at Tom, somehow hoping that the attention she paid him would nurse him back to health when her words could not.

Again, it was Mary who stood up and walked to Sybil. The tea was turning cold and the conversation was dying off between her and Edith and their parents. While they all wanted to be patient, for Sybil, they were still very unsure of what all of this was, why Sybil couldn't stop touching Tom and why there was an intense tension between Sybil and her parents, leaving usually comforting words unspoken even as Robert and Cora watched Sybil interact with a still Tom, wanting to say so much.

"Sybil, darling, maybe you should go home. You know, get some sleep. Shelly said he won't be up for another few hours. You could ride back with mum and Papa and then—"

"No," Sybil said, trying to remain sweet. "I'm going to spend the night here. I'm not leaving him," she added in a whisper.

"Well you could come stay at my place. Matthew could drop you off in the morning before he headed to work—"

"Nope," Sybil said again, this time with a bit more agitation in her voice. She turned to her sister and the smile faded. This wasn't exhaustion or sadness, but anger, possibly and maybe even a little regret. "I'm going to stay here," Sybil repeated for all to hear.

"Sybil, you're being ridiculous. He doesn't know you're here and even if he did, he'd tell you to go home. You know how Tom is—"

"Yeah, Mary, I do know how Tom is, alright? But please don't act like you do! Like I said," she reaffirmed. "I'm staying here."

"Papa?" Mary asked over her shoulder. With her eyebrows raised and her head bent toward Sybil she was asking for help, unaware of the fight Sybil and her parents had before all of this and how her father and her mother were both extremely upset with one another and themselves. "Mum? Is anyone going to talk sense into her?"

"I don't need to be talked to! Just leave me alone, Mary! God forbid I make my own decisions in life. That scares you, doesn't it? Your baby sister can't possibly know what she wants, so it's your job in life to guide her in the right direction!"

"Sybil..." Edith began, trying to offer some support.

She was quickly shut down and stopped from standing up. This argument was meant for Mary and Sybil, leaving little room for other contenders. The two always got along so well, until somedays when they didn't. "You're always controlling me! You're always saying how I should dress and who I should be dating and how I should deal with Mama and Papa!"

"Apparently we need to be dealt with," Cora said, causing Robert to smirk with her and the two of them to laugh. They returned their attention to Sybil and Mary, still talking in hushed tones at Tom's bedside.

"Sybil you're being so irrational. What is going on?" Mary asked, reaching out a hand to touch her sister's shoulder.

"Don't touch me! I'm fine!" Sybil roared.

Cora stood now, realizing that all of this was more than just heartbreak over seeing her best friend in the hospital. "Sybil?"

"Mum—" Sybil began. She was unable to say much else as the heat rose from out of her chest, filling her cheeks and her tear ducts with emotion she had kept hidden from the world for these past few years. Soon the tears came, and Sybil was too busy gritting her teeth in anxiety to hinder just how quickly they fell, painting her red cheeks. Her hands were balled at her sides and she wanted to scream. She would have if they weren't in a hospital that was housing her unconscious best friend. She imagined that after she'd scream for herself, she'd scream for him, begging him to wake up and fight her corner.

"Sybil, darling, what's wrong?" Cora asked, stepping into the space Mary and Sybil occupied. Behind them, Edith also brought herself to her feet and Robert stiffened against the wall, watching and waiting for all of this to escalate.

"I love him, Mum," Sybil said simply, aided by the tears falling down her cheeks. The arm nearest to Tom was outstretched with her palm up, as if to show the emotion just by indicating to the boy sleeping on the bed. "I love him and I pushed him away and now—"

"Sybil, he'll wake up," Robert said. His daughter had said hurtful things to him that night, but she was honest, and he felt that as a father he had the responsibility to give her the same thing in return. She was not a child that could be lied to or forced to believe something else because it was easier. Standing before them now, that was all so clear, evident in the way her dress was wrinkled and her hair pulled back away from her face in a calculated mess atop her head.

"But I fucked it up, alright?" Sybil let out with a sniffle. She rubbed at her sides, wishing that he was here to do all of this for her. She had imagined someday how she'd tell her parents about her and Tom, and how he'd be there with her and the two of them could face the awkward silence together. She imagined her parents would have questions and she was sure that if she didn't have an answer that Tom would, because he was brilliant with words and he always knew how to deliver them so that the person receiving his notions was left without doubts. She knew that her parents would be confused, but she assured herself that she wouldn't be, because wherever they told them, Tom would be sitting next to her, holding her hand in his lap underneath the table.

Mary looked to Sybil, and the young girl stared back. Somehow in that moment it was clear that Mary knew.

Sybil continued to cry, her shoulders slumped now, as she wiped at her nose with the back of her hand. She didn't know where she stood on the issue, if she should be relieved or angry at her sister. If she knew, did she know the other day when she walked in on them, or like they had suspected, could she really not see Tom? Maybe that was Mary's problem and everyone else's too: they didn't see the things drawn out so clearly before them.

"Sybil, maybe we shouldn't—" Mary began, thinking suddenly how a sterile hospital room with an unconscious Tom just feet away might not be the best way to tell her parents that she was sleeping with her best friend.

But Sybil pushed past her sister again and stood in the middle of the room. She dropped her arms down from their place latched across her stomach as if she was ready to accept the punishment flung her way. Mary stepped forward, not yet ready to let her baby sister deal with this on her own. She would let her words come and she'd let her parents have their opinions, but she wouldn't let Sybil fall in the way they both knew the teenager wanted to.

"I've been with Tom for a long time, mum. I don't want the boys from school or from church or anyone but him. I love him and—"

Cora stepped in again. Almost as if there was a tether between her and her husband, as she did so, Robert stood, not yet ready to allow his wife to deal with this on her own. Had they really been so blind to all of this? Who else knew?

"Why didn't you tell us you were dating?" Cora asked.

"We weren't dating, we—oh god—" Sybil clasped her hand over her mouth and ran to the bathroom. In the dark, she emptied the contents of her stomach into the toilet bowl and then quickly flushed the contents down. Only then did she realize how hungry she was and how she should have eaten more at dinner that night. Maybe she also should have been kinder to her parents. They were trying, she told herself. They were always trying.

With eyes wide and a mouth dropped slightly open, Edith watched her sister return from the loo. Never one to have a filter, she asked the question they all were wondering. It was presented to the room in a tone and volume much larger than anything any of them were expecting. "Are you pregnant?" she asked, pressing a shocked hand to her collarbone.

Mary rolled her eyes as she rubbed at Sybil's back. "No, you idiot, she always throws up when she gets nervous."

"Enough!" Sybil yelled, throwing up her hands as she did so. "Just go home. I'm staying here tonight."

"Sybil, darling, Mary is right. You need to sleep and eat–" Robert attempted.

"And we need to talk about this," Cora added.

Erratically, Sybil shook her head, not once entertaining either thought. She was hungry and she was certainly all kinds of exhausted, but neither urge was strong enough to pull her out of this room. "No! I need my best friend to wake up. Please!" she added for emphasis, hoping her parents would get the hint and just go. It was better sometimes to leave Sybil to be on her own. When she was little she insisted on fighting the world alone, and now as a young woman, they had no other choice but to let her do just that.

Mary ushered Sybil into the seat she had pulled next to Tom. Somehow through all of this, he was still sleeping, still unaware of the news his best friend had just shared with her family. This was his family too, but not in the way where something like this would break their heart. Them being intimate was Sybil's story to tell.

Sybil remained in the chair, lurched forward with her ring covered hands rubbing at his hand. She wanted to hold him, all of him, but this would do. Blood ran through each outstretched finger, beating in time and she picked his hand up and smiled at his palm before setting it gently back down. "Wake up, Tom," she whispered to him.

Near the door, Mary was standing with her parents and Edith. They spoke in hushed tones, ones Sybil would usually try to hear if she wasn't so intent on staring at Tom and fixing the blankets folded at his waist.

"Go home," Mary said calmly.

"Oh good, now we're taking orders from our children." Robert sighed, rolling his eyes upward to dismiss the statement.

Cora looked to her husband and shook her head before returning her attention to Mary. "And what? Leave her here?"

Mary's eyes were black glass, unwavering from her previous position. "I'll stay with her."

"Mary, you can't be serious…"

Mary turned to Edith. "Oh, I'm sorry, did you want an invite to the rager we'll be throwing?"

Edith rolled her eyes and crossed her arms across her chest. "Don't be juvenile. All I'm saying is that if Mama and Papa want to stay with her, they have that right—"

"Does that honestly seem like the best option to all of you? What even happened? Why is she a mess?"

"She's a mess because of her and Tom. You heard her," Edith explained.

"No, that's not it," Mary said. "I'm sure that's not it."

Robert sighed. "We had a disagreement at dinner tonight."

Mary raised her eyebrows as if to demand her father elaborate. "A disagreement?"

Cora nodded. "Your father and I have some things we need to discuss with all of you."

"Things? What kind of things? Is everything all right?"

"Everything's fine," Robert assured.

"Now. It's fine now." Cora corrected. "Your father—"

"I cheated on your mother three years ago. With the housekeeper. And it didn't happen just once, but Sybil must have seen and tonight it was made very clear to me why she has hated your mother and I for the past couple of years."

"Papa!" Edith gasped out.

"You pushed her to Tom," Cora whispered, earning another eye roll from Mary.

"First off, Papa, you are a pig. Second, Mama, you are no better! He did no such thing. You know, you two call yourselves parents and you couldn't even see that two people that lived under your roof were in a relationship? Sybil didn't seek some sort of comfort in Tom because of Papa! She did it because that is what she has always done. Only this time they grew up, and it wasn't just hugs, it was—"

"Mary, please!"

"No, you please! We're all adults here and whether you'd like to admit it or not, so is she! And so is he! I may kid and I may tease, but now that this is clear for me, nothing else makes sense. Matthew said it the other night and I will only repeat it. Those two are meant for one another."

"So we're just supposed to be okay with this?"

Mary nodded. "I don't see why not. Tom's a good kid and he's like my brother because you two have raised him like a son. What better person for Sybil than her best friend?"

Edith straightened up. "I suppose it's fine."

"Oh good, Sybil was hoping for your approval," Mary teased causing Edith to slump into herself and pout.

"Your father and I don't have a problem with it," Cora said, clearly speaking for both her and Robert. Though they'd never reveal this to anyone, they had talked about Tom and Sybil many times before. Between all the fights and their own selfish issues, they saw the way the friends were, and although they never wished to encourage it to go beyond that, it was clear to the both of them that it couldn't be stopped at this point. They'd soon realize, just as Tom and Sybil once did, that it was no use fighting something so entrenched.

"All your mother was saying is that we need to talk to them about this."

"Now?" Mary asked, pointing over her shoulder to where Sybil remained at Tom's side. "Did you want to do that now?"

"Oh Mary, stop with the attitude!"

"You don't listen to her! She tells me what you think about Juilliard and I know that all of this wouldn't have been a secret if you two were more open with one another, and with her. That house has turned into an absolute battlefield since Edith and I left! It's not fair!"

"And who are you to say that Mary? Like you said, you don't live there anymore."

"No, I don't Papa, you're right. But I am a mother and I know when my child is hurting and scared. Open your eyes, would you?"

"You're an expert, are you?" Robert asked, clearly growing more and more agitated the more his own daughter scolded him. Little did he know, this was how it worked sometimes, and that for as much as parents always swore they knew, it was usually their own children that taught them the most.

"No," Mary said, suddenly appearing defeated. "I'm not. And I will die never knowing all of the things about being a good parent but I will know that I did my best and that my child was happy because I stopped to listen. Trust me, I have so much to learn but I admit my faults and I work to be a better person because of my son. I do it all for Max now. That's what being a parent is."

"They know that," Edith interjected.

"I know they know that. But maybe they need to be reminded," Mary said, settling on her words. It was then that her parent's eyes finally settled on her. They had accepted what she had said and even gone a step further to commit it all to memory. She was right, and as much as they hated to admit it, they had gotten lazy with Sybil. They had let her raise herself, and though it broke their hearts to admit, she had done a good job at becoming the young woman she was today, even frazzled and distracted as she cried over her best friend in the middle of his hospital room.

Cora sighed and looked from Sybil back to Mary. Suddenly the eldest Crawley sister was an expert on all of this. Little did they know, even she didn't know it all. Not even Mary could ever fully comprehend the love between Tom and Sybil. Perhaps that would always be a secret.

"Why wouldn't Sybil tell us?"

"It's not really something you share with your parents…" Edith added, knowing few things, but feeling confident in her answer.

"She was young," Mary offered. "I think to admit that she loved Tom and was intimate with Tom was to admit other things you two weren't ready to hear. It's clear she didn't want to talk about the affair and it's clear you two didn't want to acknowledge that somewhere along the way, she wasn't a child anymore."

"That's all very clear now," Cora stated only to purse her lips. "So you'll stay with her?"

"I will," Mary agreed. There wasn't even an ounce of hesitation in her voice.

"What about Matthew and Max?"

Mary crossed her arms over her chest. "Well, Papa, contrary to popular belief, I found myself a husband that can cook and clean and manage quite well with our child even when I'm not around. I somehow think my boys will be just fine without me in the house."

"Do you want a ride to Downton?" Edith offered.

Mary looked at the girl and cocked her head to the side. "Whatever for?"

"Maybe Sybil wants a change of clothes and food—"

With shut eyes, Mary sighed and reached a hand out to touch Edith's arm. "Yes, of course. Do you mind?"

Edith quickly shook her head. "Not at all. Should we grab Tom some things as well?"

Mary nodded and walked to Sybil to tell the girl they were leaving. She asked her what she needed and what Tom would want, and smiled as Sybil took more time describing the jeans Tom would want and his favorite grey t-shirt with the buttons at the top. The family excused themselves and left the door leading out to the hallway wide open. Behind them, Shelly entered, bringing with her another hot cup of tea. She handed it to the young girl and watched as Sybil was pulled away from Tom long enough to accept it with a warm smile.

"Girlfriend?" Shelly asked, knowing that a girl like Sybil wouldn't mind her prying.

Sybil shook her head. "He's my best friend." And then: "And I am so in love with him. So in love," she repeated, still staring at Tom.

"He loves you too. You're all over. There's a picture of you in his wallet and you're the background on his phone…"

Sybil looked up again. She sipped at her tea and smiled, enjoying the warmth of the beverage and the nurse who was currently changing Tom's IV drip. "He's going to be pretty mad at me when he wakes up."

"Ahh, I doubt that."

Sybil smiled. "I appreciate your optimism." She played with the rim of her cardboard cup of tea, running her fingers over the ridges of the plastic top, paying special attention to the flap that kept the hot liquid from spilling out. "Even if he's not mad at me, my parents aren't too happy with either of us right now so…"

"Can I give you advice?" Sybil nodded, shaking her head up and down. Suddenly receiving advice from Tom's inpatient nurse made sense, even when most things in the world right now did not. "Parents aren't always right. I mean, they'll love you and they'll be there for you and they'll try, but they'll never really get it. And as you grow up you'll kind of get that, you know? Just as they forgive you for maybe not always being as appreciative as you should be, you learn to forgive them for falling short in the parenting department. They're human. I'm sure whatever the issue is it can be resolved."

Sybil's eyes trailed off, landing upward first onto the fixture above Tom's head before finally settling on the boy's bedside table. There, Tom's watch laid, perfectly untouched by any harm and Sybil wondered why it was she hadn't seen it there before. She wanted to reach for it, but she let it rest, wondering how it was that the glass was clear and the metal unscratched after all Tom had been through. It was then that she looked to Shelly and smiled, accepting all the nurse had said. As Shelly disappeared out the door, Sybil reached for Tom's watch and held it in her hands along with his rosary.

* * *

Reviews are much appreciated! What did we think of the reveal? How badass is Mary? If you follow me on tumblr you know I've said my own sister is very much a "Mary" so this was such fun for me to write! And plus, believe it or not, I couldn't wait for Robert and Cora to find out. Looking forward to hearing your thoughts! As usual, thanks for reading!

x. Elle


	12. Forever and Ever

**A/N: **Aiya! Did everyone get the alert for the last chapter? I know this site has been having issues and with my luck, it seems to be affecting this story as of late. So I reiterate: make sure you've read the previous chapter before reading this one!

* * *

"Everybody knows you don't get what you plan  
And everybody runs away from what they don't understand  
Everybody hides away the guilt of their youth.  
And everybody wonders why no one ever tells the truth."  
_Forever and Ever_ - 8mm

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When Mary returned she took off her sweater and began to hang it up in the closet by the bathroom. Her computer bag of files and the duffel bag she brought with Sybil's clothes waited by the door along with the small cooler she packed with drinks and food for her sister. Her hands moved to put the shoulders of the cardigan on the hanger while her eyes were trained on Sybil, laying on the bed with a boy the rest of the family looked at as a brother and son. She was asleep, her chest deliberately rising and falling with each passing breath. She used one arm as a pillow while the other reached out to rest on Tom's chest. She looked as if she had wanted to settle further into him, but was afraid of the damage she'd do being so close.

Tom was just as he had been before, static and breathing. The picture before her made her smile, something that quickly vanished when Sybil opened her eyes and saw her sister.

Mary crossed her arms over her chest, bunching the soft cotton t-shirt underneath where she rubbed at her arms. It was an unfortunate habit she had to feel cold when she was uncomfortable. Though her hands did busy work to heat her body up, it was no use and she gave up as Sybil forced a smile her way.

Mary gestured to the chair on the other side of the bed. She wondered who had moved it there, but she didn't ask. Instead, she looked to Sybil. "Can I sit here?"

Sybil shrugged. "Why do I feel like my answer won't make a difference?"

Mary sighed and sat down. She watched as Sybil slowly inched away from Tom in the same way she imagined she would if she was trying not to wake him. Her actions were useless but warmed Mary in a way that no friction on her skin ever could. As she reached the end of the mattress, Sybil used the rail of the hospital bed to hoist her body up and back onto the ground. She smoothed out her dress and fixed her hair, doing her best to appear presentable. All the while, Mary watched her, wondering when it was her sister had grown up, as if that's just a decision children make one day.

She thought of Max and how she had kissed his forehead when she went home to pack her own things. He was in bed with Matthew, an idea that made Mary want to roll her eyes, but only made tears well as she thought of how maybe it was time she started cherishing his innocent and curious nature. No matter how much she protected him from the world, it would find ways to be biting and honest and cruel.

"You know," Mary began, "If I'm going to be ridiculing Mama and Papa it might be best I follow my own advice."

Sybil raised an eyebrow, inviting Mary to continue speaking as she settled back into the chair on the other side of Tom's bed. She pulled her sock covered feet up on the chair with her, and Mary watched, no longer perturbed by the cuts and bruises that covered her soles and threatened to peek out where the laces of her pointe shoes normally scratched at her ankles. Mary remembered watching Sybil when she'd get home from dance, standing at the door to the bathroom as her sister stuck her feet into the tub to wash off the blood. She'd wince then and make comments about how she couldn't imagine something like this being normal, even as Sybil insisted all the girls experienced it. Still, she'd watch, until one day she was engaged and moved out, leaving Sybil to wash her feet in the bathtub alone.

Mary continued: "I think for a long time I saw how detached you were from them and I just felt that it was my job to step in. I don't know, looking back I see how silly that must sound, but I never wanted to control you. That wasn't my intention," she sighed out. "Do you get that?"

"I'm sorry for what I said," Sybil quickly shot out. It was then that she looked at Mary for the first time that night. She let her eyes linger on her sister's pale skin and the way her short hair curled around her ears making Sybil wonder how long she had spent on it that morning to make it wave in the way it did.

"Sybil, you don't have to apologize. You're right. I'm not your mother. I need to watch what I say and how I say it."

"So do I," Sybil whispered. "I was being irrational. I mean, I still am. I've just had a lot going on lately and-"

"What was the fight about?"

"What?" Sybil asked, looking up again.

Mary repeated her question and Sybil nodded, wondering where to begin. "I was fifteen."

"God, Sybil!" Mary breathed out. There was a bit of agitation there, as she listened to her sister begin to tell a story that would eventually answer her question.

"He didn't force me into anything. It was completely consensual and it was a long time coming."

Mary sighed and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. She looked out the window behind Sybil out onto the lazy London skyline and the way the night still had a hue of orange left over from that afternoon. "Of course not."

"He didn't."

"I know that," Mary confirmed. "I'm not blaming either of you. I was only half a virgin when I was fifteen."

Sybil snorted. "I don't even want to know what that means."

"It means we're all dumb. It's a part of being young."

"I don't want this to be chalked up to a mistake," Sybil said, softening. "I do love him...god, I love him."

Mary studied her sister's face and the way her entire body seemed frail on the large chair she sat on. She saw the bags under her eyes and how her eyelids were heavy and red and she wondered how long Sybil had been sleeping before she arrived. "I know that. I've known that for a long time, I just thought—"

"Well, we weren't thinking. Once we started we couldn't stop. And it was easier to give into all of it than to admit that we actually had feelings for one another."

"He loves you," Mary reminded. "I mean, he really loves you. And I swear you have loved him just as long. You may not want to admit it but—"

Sybil cut her sister off. "No, I do want to admit it. I've wanted to admit it for the longest time but I was so scared. It's like if I said it aloud it would disappear. It seems stupid now but I think we thought this was the only way we could work."

"That's not stupid, Sybil. Being in love is scary. Your life isn't just yours anymore. Your decisions and the way you think don't just affect you anymore. And no matter how much you try to fight it, that's how it is," Mary said, and Sybil smiled in response because she knew her sister was speaking from experience. "So that was what the fight was about?"

"I freaked out. He admitted how he felt and I just froze. And I guess I ignored how much I needed him. It didn't hit me until he walked out that I can't live without him."

"So the other day, that boy, that was Tom?"

Sybil nodded. "It's always been Tom."

Now it was Mary's turn to smile as a silence settled over the room. Sybil stared back at Tom, her best friend, still on his back asleep on the bed. Mary stood up and walked to where she had left her things by the door. She returned with her laptop bag slung over her shoulder and the duffel bag she had packed for Sybil.

"I brought you some clothes and your shampoo and your makeup bag from your bathroom. I didn't know what you wanted so I just threw what I saw into the bag."

"Thanks," Sybil said, taking the bag from her sister.

"There's food in the cooler by the door. Mrs. Patmore had already cleaned the kitchen and was heading home for the weekend so I grabbed a few of her pre-made meals from the fridge. There's also some fruit and a few bottles of water."

Mary sat down and began unpacking her laptop bag. She got up to plug in her charger but returned and grabbed her laptop from off the floor, placing the warming metal onto her lap. Then, she reached down into her bag and pulled out a file folder containing several forms and a bright yellow post-it-note on the front that had something written in Matthew's chicken scratch.

Sybil watched her, and then slowly opened the zipper to her duffel bag. It whizzed against the plastic ridges, echoing in the otherwise quiet hospital room. Tom's heart monitor beeped on, reminding the girl she was not as alone as she was feeling. Her hand reached down, pulling out her favorite pair of jeans. Then, a cardigan Edith had bought her for Christmas, and a simple pair of white keds. Sybil nodded and looked up to the ceiling. There were a few soft cotton blouses below, ones that Sybil had purchased- in anticipation of law school. Even then, she hated them, and knew that they'd get little use.

At eighteen she knew better than to rifle through the rest of the bag; it was clear that Mary hadn't packed what she saw, but rather, what she wished her sister would wear. These were things that needed to be searched for, because due to their neglect in Sybil's wardrobe, they had all most likely fallen to the back of her closet. Not wanting to rile Mary back up after the two had been so honest with one another and even reached a certain understanding, Sybil zipped the bag back up and put it by her feet.

"Everything alright?" Mary asked, watching as Sybil sat back.

"Was I supposed to change now? It's only been a few hours…"

"I don't care, but you might want to shower before he wakes up. Your eye makeup is a disaster and your hair is frizzy…"

"Oh," Sybil spoke softly, immediately reaching up to smooth back the stray hairs along her hairline. But then she softened and thought about Tom. With confidence, she looked back to Mary. "He's not going to care what I look like."

Mary smiled. "Well, of course not. I'm just saying," Mary began, clearly stumbling on her words. "I don't know what I'm saying," she finally finished, calling a truce and accepting her sister's attempt at peacekeeping.

Sybil smirked and looked down to her feet; they looked better than they had in awhile. While she was in Cape Cod, she hadn't danced aside from the occasional tendu coupe around her grandmother's kitchen when drying the dishes or putting the leftovers from that night's meal away in the fridge. She was always moving, but lately she had taken a break; it seemed that dance was the last thing she wanted to do after Tom walked out.

"Are you going to stay here all night?" Mary looked up. "I mean, I don't mind. Thank you. It's just not necessary."

The eldest Crawley sister was smirking now, but doing her best to not allow her baby sister to see it. "I'm keeping you company, is that alright?"

Sybil nodded. "S'fine."

"Since when did you become a spaz? You're like on edge and nervous all of a sudden."

"Uh, well, I told my parents I've been sleeping with my best friend and said best friend is currently in a drug induced COMA," Sybil emphasized rather sassily causing Mary to immediately laugh. "My sister, you may know her, Edith is her name, she asked if said best friend KNOCKED ME UP. Oh, and not only am I sleeping with my best friend but I'm really fucking in love with him too! And when he wakes up he's going to remember our fight and he's only going to think I love him because he almost died. As if him being taken from me was the one thing that made me realize I loved him."

"Rough life," Mary commented causing both her and Sybil to laugh. "Also, watch your mouth. The nurses already think we're a weird bunch with mum and dad being gone already. Did you know one of them asked if you were his sister?"

Sybil's eyes widened. "What did you tell them?"

"I told them the truth…" her voice trailed off. "That of course you were his sister and that we come from a very close family."

Sybil's eyes remained wide but she dropped her head back to let out another laugh. "Oh, you are cruel! Don't kid, Mary! I hope you told them the truth so they don't think I'm in love with my brother."

"I straightened it all out for you," Mary stated before returning her features to their usual tight-lipped smile. She then stared back at the forms she had set down on the keyboard of her laptop and picked them up. She leant the papers against her chest as she typed away at her computer, her eyes darting back and forth across the screen as her intentions appeared in the form of words, adding to things in this document Matthew had already suggested.

Without looking up, Mary spoke again: "So all is fine then? With the birth control I mean? It's working?"

Sybil rolled her eyes. "I'm not pregnant, no. I've never been pregnant. We did think-" But she stopped herself.

It was then that Mary looked up. "You thought what?"

"I was late once," Sybil stated casually. "And I did ask Miss Ellie if it was a dance related thing because it can happen where the stress of the movement disrupts your cycle," Sybil defended, knowing that Mary was accusing her of lying without ever having to say so.

"Listen, Sybil, you're not a child. Despite what mum and dad say, you're not their baby anymore. It's ridiculous mum didn't have you on birth control. I don't care why you needed it."

"Well I didn't lie," Sybil reminded, which caused Mary to immediately raise her eyebrows as if challenging her sister's words. "About that," Sybil added causing both girls to laugh.

"So what," Mary started, still tapping away at her computer, "this is it then? You and Tom? You're eighteen and you think you've found it? No more boys for you? No dating other girls for him?"

"There's never been anyone else for either of us. I would always ask him if he wanted to see other people and he never did and each time he confirmed that I would let out this huge sigh. It was like hearing him agree with everything I felt."

"That is terrifying," Mary commented. "I can't imagine spending my life with one person."

It was now Sybil's turn to raise her eyebrows to show clear shock over what her sister had said. This prompted Mary to continue, but first she laughed, thinking how silly all of this was, and at the same time how much she missed being able to talk to Sybil like this. It seemed that time separated them for awhile, leaving Sybil to be a child at Downton while Mary made sense of the world outside as an adult. Now, they were both mature enough and both experienced enough as women to have these types of talks, ones that allowed them to laugh and share secrets in the way that only sisters can.

"What I meant was that when I met Matthew I knew, even that first day that he was the one for me but that was because I had things to compare him to. I was twenty one and had been in one serious relationship before him but I had loads of other flings that basically told me what I wanted and didn't want from a man. And Matthew taught me that it's okay to need something from someone else too, as long as it's on your own terms. I just can't imagine loving him so fully in the way that I do if I hadn't fucked it up with all those other guys." Sybil went to speak but Mary stopped her. "BUT, I'm not saying that's the road for everyone. I also believe that when you know, you know."

"I never said we were going to get married and have babies," Sybil explained. "All I know is that he's the one person in this world that truly gets me. He doesn't make fun of my curly hair, he doesn't call me out for being weird because he is just as weird as me. I don't know," she said, sighing. "It's like, all I know is that I want to wake up to his face every morning and I want to watch stupid foreign movies that we turn off halfway because the subtitles are annoying and I want to be able to argue with him over politics even though we almost always agree on those things. I can't picture anyone more perfect for me."

"You don't have to explain it to me. I get it. I really think I've always got it, just like everyone else has. I think we were all just kind of waiting for you guys to get it and little did we know that in your own way you had."

"We got it alright," Sybil deadpanned.

"SYBIL!"

Sybil clasped a hand over her mouth and then raised that same hand and her other to shake at the air in front of her. "No, no, no! That's not what I meant! Oh god!" she finally said, admitting her own defeat as she buried her embarrassed cheeks in the palms of her hands.

Mary just shook her head. She returned to typing at her computer, this time doing so with her reading glasses on her face. Sybil watched as her eyes scanned the tangible documents and then transferred what she believed to be edits onto the document on her computer screen. No longer feeling like guessing, and growing awfully bored and rather creepy for staring longingly at Tom, Sybil inquired about what exactly it was that Mary was working on.

"A will," she answered truthfully.

Sybil quirked an eyebrow. "Becoming a lawyer now, are we?"

Mary shook her head and continued to type. "With Matthew working on this big Silverman case, he's seen how nasty splitting up an estate can be. That family has been torn apart by their father dying, and all because the man didn't have a will. Nobody is getting what they're supposed to be getting and they're all miserable."

"Isn't there some client privilege that Matthew should be minding?"

Mary shrugged. "It's in the papers."

Sybil laughed. "Okay, so what's this then? A will?" Then it clicked. "Like your will?"

"Mine and Matthew's will, yes."

Another laugh came from Sybil, urging Mary to finally look up from her illuminated screen. "Why is that funny?"

"You're 31! Also, you're you and if I didn't know you need reading glasses, I'd think those things had fake lenses and were just there to make you look smart. Also," Sybil began, "I pity the person that has to go through that thing."

"Sybil, this is serious. If I'm set to inherit the estate, I'd be foolish not to make sure that everything was taken care of should something happen to me."

Sybil swallowed and grew serious. "Stop saying that. Nothing's going to happen to you. Christ!"

Mary smiled. "No, of course not. But this is why you plan. People that plan rarely have to actually execute their plans and those who don't...wish they had, I suppose."

"Touche."

"You're cruel, Sybil Crawley. I should write you out of this thing if you think I'm such a witch."

Sybil softened and leaned in toward her sister, using her hand to prop up her head as she smiled sweetly at Mary. "You wouldn't dare. You know I want your art collection...oh, and those awesome mixing bowls Matthew got from Russia."

Mary cocked her head to the side to show her sister just how unamused she was. "Do you want to just off me now and ransack the house while you're at it?"

Sybil let out a loud laugh. "No! I'm just saying...I'm your favorite sister. Well," she began, clearly thinking better of her words, "we just get along better than you and Edith do. It's only fair I voice my wants to you. I mean, if you're taking this whole will business seriously."

Mary rolled her eyes and returned her attention to her laptop. "Well of course," she said, rather sarcastically.

"So wait, Max inherits the estate after you?"

"I mean, by tradition, yes, but those rules aren't in place anymore. Hundreds of years ago, it would have been Matthew to inherit for me, but the estate will be in my name after Mama and Papa go."

"And the cars and the staff?"

"All mine."

"You're right. Imagine poor old Carson without any direction. You're smart to draft this up."

"You're being a sasspot, but thank you! And don't make fun of Carson - he's been good to you!" Mary pointed out but then quickly softened. "You'll be happy when the proverbial bus hits me and you and Edith don't have to fight to the death over paintings and land and money. Matthew and I will have it all settled."

"No, you're right. I like this," Sybil stated, clearly playing along with her sister and her sister's husband's eccentricities. "Plan on."

"You're teasing again…"

"I'm not. I'm being serious! I don't want to deal with Mama and Papa when they're old. And I want nothing to do with the estate. I hope this will allows you to live until you're 100 so I can be on my merry way."

"That's selfish."

"No," Sybil corrected, clearly with a bit of humor. "That's smart."

"You're being bold," Mary pointed out.

Sybil was quick to challenge that but on the bed that separated them, Tom began to cough. Sybil stood up and ran to him, running a hand to his back as she grabbed for her own cup of water from his nightstand. He pushed it away and continued to cough. She was left with no other option but to watch him, until finally he caught his breath.

"I'm fine," he said. "My mouth is just dry. And fuck, my leg hurts."

Sybil sighed and then laughed, immediately running her free hand up to touch his cheek. A tear fell from her eye as she realized just how normal he seemed to be, when hours ago, she was picturing him dead. "You're okay."

He smirked at her. "I was completely fine when they brought me in here. Those drugs knocked me out. Didn't they tell you I asked for you?"

Sybil cut him off, her voice still hitting the air in a whisper. "You asked for me?"

Behind them, Mary was standing up, slowly, as if avoiding being seen. She didn't want to interrupt, but she spoke anyway, telling them she was going to go tell a nurse Tom was awake. Sybil and Tom both smiled at her, but immediately returned their attention to one another the minute she was gone. Sybil sat on the edge of Tom's bed, with one leg touching the linoleum floor below for support. She reached out and grabbed his hands, large and calloused and veiny as he reached to touch her just the same.

In one swift motion, her foot was off the ground and she was crawling toward him, on the bed, with her body nestled into his side. Her hands were on his face, pulling him in, with not only a need to taste him and feel him against her, but just for him to be close.

"God, I'm sorry, Tom. I'm so, so sorry," she lamented. Sybil realized that night that she'd always be needing him like this and it was a thought and a feeling she never wanted to go away, no matter how terrifying.

She leaned in, and he reciprocated, but their lips didn't touch in the way they wanted to. Mary and Shelly entered the room, pulling them both out of the moment they were about to get themselves lost in as they both looked to the door. Mary stifled a laugh behind an outstretched palm and Shelly just moved forward, smiling, and telling Tom how nice it was to see that he was awake and lucid.

Sybil took this time to climb off of him. She stood by the window and watched Shelly ask Tom more questions, like how his head felt and if he was hungry or not. He answered them, and Sybil smiled until he caught her, at which point her glance was transfixed out the window looking out onto the city as the night sky disappeared into a pink and puffy morning. Soon, more doctors were in the room. With a comforting touch, Mary guided Sybil out into the hall to wait. It was there that Sybil repeated her words from earlier into Mary's shoulder as the sisters shared a rushed and urgent hug: "He's okay."

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Thanks for reading! (Have I said that enough yet?)

Reviews are much appreciated! And encouraged. Yeah...let's go with encouraged. When you all get silent I'm forced to believe I've done something wrong. And if I have, let me know! I like to know what my readers are thinking!

x. Elle


	13. Young Love

**A/N: **So a few days ago, the lovely **piperholmes** made me a *very* special video for this story and I really suggest you all check it out (link is below and on my profile page - just get rid of the dashes!) and tell her how wonderful she is. I was so honored and it was so perfect that I cried watching it for the first time. Now when I watch it, it just makes me smile because I am so humbled by how much some of you involve yourself in a story I write for fun. Really, I can't tell you how much it means to me and I can't say "thank you" enough.

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h-t-t-p-:-/-/-y-o-u-t-u-.-b-e-/-Z-T-N-v-G-H-S-I-P- E-8

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"For the young lovers  
Taking the hill  
One plants a flag  
While the other is killed  
When the wine pours  
We raise our cups  
Young love is sacrifice  
Young love is tough  
Young love is innocent  
Young love is us"  
_Young Love_ - Gavin DeGraw

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Immediately, Sybil was ushered out of Tom's room so Shelly and a handful of other on-call nurses could monitor his health now that he was awake. Through the rectangular glass window pane, metal lines crossed over one another, drawing fences that separated her from the scene behind the door. With her arms crossed tightly over her chest, Sybil watched as Tom made all of the nurses laugh. She wondered what he had said, but even without knowing, she felt her cheeks pull into a curious smile. She'd hear it later, she was sure. Or maybe she had heard it a million times already.

A nurse helped Tom to sit up while another pulled the blankets at his feet up to monitor his circulation. The color had just begun to return to his cheeks and Sybil watched as Tom looked over and caught her eye. She smiled back, doing her best to be patient, but thinking all the while how she wished she could hear their conversations and join in.

Earlier, Sybil had dropped his rosary and watch onto the bedside table when he first awoke, but she craved them now, needing the cool metal on her skin to hold her over until he could. It had only been minutes. Mary was off down the hall making phone calls, but still nearby.

Sybil knew that they'd be here soon. All of them, their faces no longer painted with worry, would show up with energy that suggested that they'd been here all along. She was sure her mother and even her father were worried and she made a mental note to thank Edith for offering to drive Mary to Downton. She wondered then about the rest of the family, if Matthew and Max would be coming and if her grandmother had made it home safely. Sybil smiled at the last thought, sure that she owed the elderly woman an hour of her time after dance this week to enjoy a cup of tea together.

"Sybil?" With a touch to the shoulder, Cora had Sybil pulling away, shocked by the cool skin of her mother's palm on her skin. Sybil gave her mother and her father a forced smile, but quickly returned her attention back to the window.

"How is he?" Robert asked, stepping further into his wife. Sybil looked at him, and the way he put his arm on her mother's shoulder now, causing Cora to lean back into him. If she wasn't so exhausted, Sybil was sure she'd be rolling her eyes, something Tom would have loved to chide her for. But he was still in the bed behind the door talking to the nurses and she was still stuck out in this breezy hallway, waiting to be let back in.

"Fine," she mustered.

"Have you eaten?"

"A bit of the fruit Mary packed."

"That's it?" Cora asked, her eyes growing wide with concern. "Just because Tom's in a state doesn't mean you need to be too. You need to eat, Sybil."

"I know, mum."

"Sybil, your mother was just trying to—"

Sybil glared at her father, piercing green eyes unmoving against his shifting grey. "I'm not arguing. I just wasn't hungry. I'll eat soon, alright?"

Cora smiled and nodded as Robert shook his head and looked to the empty space over his shoulder. Mary was coming down the hall, her hair pushed behind her ears, flowing against the breeze of the open corridor while her lanky arms rested at her sides, one hand clutching her cell phone.

"Max has a football game but he and Matthew send their love."

Sybil smiled at her sister, practically inviting Mary to move into the space beside her. Mary draped her arm around Sybil, pulling her baby sister in close. For the first time since they all had arrived the night before, Sybil accepted love and affection from someone other than Tom. She couldn't remember the last time Mary had hugged her aside from the embrace she had initiated just minutes after Tom woke up. Somehow though, Sybil found herself missing the action, as if once upon a time it was her favorite thing.

Inside Tom's hospital room, the nurses were gathering by the door, all of them still smiling at the exchange occurring between Tom and Shelly. As they opened the door and filtered out, Sybil heard the tail end of it, and smiled to learn that Shelly was also a fan of Tom's favorite rugby team. Shelly smiled at Sybil, knowing the girl didn't need words to be told she could go back in. Immediately, she was at his side again, standing this time, instead of resting close to him on the small mattress of his hospital bed.

Her arm was laid out flat on the space above his pillow. Her other hand was caressing his cheek as she whispered out a small "hi" finding her lips had few other words they wished to say.

"Hi," he choked back. The jovial smile he had with the nurses disappeared as his eyes, strong and blue, took her in. They forgot about the family standing at the door, with Mary now turned in talking to her parents to create a barricade shielding the young love behind her. Somehow it was quite easy for her to be protective of them and this. It was everything Sybil had wanted for so long and because of that, Mary wanted this for her as well.

As she droned on to her parents about a local charity she was going to begin working with, she even found herself turning out as her parents looked over her shoulders to stare at Sybil and Tom. Just as Sybil had done at the window, they were now staring at the two of them leaning in to kiss one another.

With a steady hand on her collarbone, Tom stopped her, and then looked to Robert and Cora. "Syb?"

She nodded and bit her lip. "They know, Tom."

Tom's eyes widened as he did his best to grasp all of this. It was what he had wanted for so long; the world knew and now somehow he wanted to pull them back in and shut the door, closing everyone else out. It was safe when they were kept a secret. Nobody could touch them then and now he was so sure everyone would have too much to say. He imagined their words coming after them like ghosts down a hall, and he pictured them running before wondering if maybe this was the chase Sybil had been through when he was fast asleep.

"How much do they know?"

Sybil shook her head and breathed out a laugh. "All of it," she stated confidently.

"Like...all," he emphasized, "of it? As in—?"

"All of it," Sybil repeated.

"Jesus Christ, Syb," he whispered back, thinking suddenly of what this meant. Her parents knew about him and her and the nights, almost every night, where he found himself nestled into her naked side, holding her close as the steady breaths they shared sang one another to sleep. Had they blamed him? Tom wanted to laugh as he thought how somehow this must have been his fault too. They could never see Sybil's choices as her own. First Juilliard and now this. Someday he'd ask her to run away with him and when she said yes, as he imagined she always would, even that would be something he'd be blamed for. What Robert and Cora didn't know, as parents often fail to do, is that Sybil's actions were more motivated by them more than anyone else. The sad thing, Tom told himself, was that sometimes Sybil failed to see this too.

Mary ushered her parents out into the hallway, leaving Sybil and Tom to stare at the spot in front of his bed where they were previously standing which was now collecting sunlight. Their eyes moved to the door where Mary was leaned in, raising her eyebrows before pulling it shut completely.

Sybil laughed and dropped her head down to rest on Tom's shoulder. He winced a bit and they both continued to laugh as she immediately pushed up the sleeve of his shirt to see just how much damage she had done.

"I'm fine. You just put a bit too much weight there."

Sybil backed away from him and feigned hurt. "Are you saying I have a large head?" she asked, a hand placed daintily to her neck.

Tom shook his head and pulled her in, using that same hand, the one where she wore the gold pinky ring he had given to her for her thirteenth birthday, to bring her close. She laughed and he joined her until their lips were so close no sound other than the sharp intake of their breathing could be heard between the two of them.

Sybil smiled, breaking the kiss, but was quick to pick it up again as she reached forward, cupping his cheeks. They pulled away, their foreheads touching, but it was he who nipped at her mouth again, tasting her skin, wishing he could feel so much more than the tenderness of her plump lips.

"God, I was so worried about you," Sybil breathed out. She rested as she had before with her arm above his head but now let her hand drop down to draw lazy circles on his scalp. "I got the call and I—"

"Shh," Tom tried, knowing it was useless as a tear had already begun to roll down her cheek. He reached up for her and brushed it away with his thumb and then brought her down to him again to kiss her forehead. "I'm fine, alright? It was just a little accident."

"I know, but all I thought was how you could have died and I just let you walk out that day without telling you all the things you deserved to hear."

"Oh yeah?" Tom teased, rubbing his tongue on the inside of his cheek to show he was being cocky.

"Yeah," Sybil confirmed, not losing how soft and fragile she was feeling.

It made Tom soften too, a thought that was echoed as he held her hands in his lap and caressed her soft skin. He looked up and spoke: "Syb, don't be like that. I'm fine now."

Sybil nodded. "Yeah...okay."

"So you told them?"

She nodded again, but this time there was a bright pink blush on her cheeks to accompany it. "I was a mess, Tom. You have no idea. I felt sick and I was scared and you weren't here and I just broke down."

"Did you have to tell them we're sleeping together?"

"It just came out!" Sybil rationalized.

"You just blurted to your parents that we've been fucking?"

Sybil softened and leaned in. "Please don't say it like that. You know I hate when—"

He cut her off with a kiss, one that made the blush she was wearing on her cheeks creep down to disappear beyond the neckline of her dress. "Your words from the other night, love."

She only nodded before giving his lips another peck. "They just know we've been...intimate," Sybil said, settling on the word. "I didn't reveal details or how it happened or why, I just told them that we've been together for quite some time now." A pause and then she added: "Like that," for good measure.

"You couldn't have said we were dating or—?"

"But we're not dating. Or we weren't!" And then: "I was stressed out, okay?"

Tom dropped his head back to laugh. "Okay, okay," he reasoned, more with himself than for her own benefit.

"Did they say when you'd be out of here?" Sybil attempted, doing her best to change the subject. Her arms were outstretched in front of her, resting along the railing of his bed. She stared down at him, wishing she was holding him like she was last night when he was still asleep and he hadn't the slightest idea she was finally waiting on him instead of the other way around.

Tom shook his head. "Soon."

"Are you going to need therapy for your leg?"

Again, he shook his head, and this time the action caused Sybil to laugh. She wanted to yell at him to speak up, but he looked rather cute and innocent in the hospital bed and she didn't wish to ruin the moment. She was sure there'd be a thousand more moments like this one, though hopefully not here and hopefully not with her parents standing right outside, where she could relentlessly tease him and only pray he'd give her the same in return.

"Not much. Shelly said it should heal on its own."

"She likes you," Sybil stated plainly.

Tom raised an eyebrow. "She's engaged, but actually we were both talking about how we like you."

"Oh yeah?" Sybil teased, secretly wanting to know what was said when she was out in the hall. She blushed, now knowing it was about much more than rugby.

"She said you were great."

"I tried," Sybil whispered, choking back a tear.

"Hey, Syb, I'm alright."

"I know."

"C'mere," he offered, scooting over on the bed to give her more room. Then: "You're not going to hurt me, love. I'm fine. Just a little sore, s'all."

Slowly, Sybil kicked off her shoes and climbed up onto his bed. Immediately, she was nestled into his side, with one hand up teasing the space behind his ear while the other rested motionless above his heart. For the first time since last night, when her body took on a similar position and her mind kept running, Sybil shut her eyes, clasping lid to lid to force her thoughts to slow down.

Tom smoothed back her curls and kissed her forehead. His lips then moved down to the tip of her nose, then to her lips. With eyelids still pressed tightly she smiled and gave in, running the hand that was previously on his chest up to the other side of his head.

If it weren't for the door to his room opening, Tom was sure that Sybil's raised body would have straddled him, as she gently nibbled on his bottom lip causing him to moan.

Both looked to the door where Robert stood with Mary off to the side. She looked concerned, with her mouth dropped open as she clasped her hands down in front of her.

"Sybil, Papa wants to speak with Tom."

Sybil looked to Tom and searched his face for a comforting expression. She found none; he looked just as clueless as she was, and with the spare moments they were afforded, like children they sat in silence making up stories.

"What for?" Sybil asked, now sitting up on the bed. Her body was on one side of Tom with her legs bended in, while an arm reached out into the space on the other side of his legs as leverage to keep her body propped up.

"Syb, it's fine—"

"It's fine," Robert repeated, smiling at his youngest daughter. "Is that okay, Tom?"

Tom nodded and then watched, as did Mary and Robert, Sybil hop off the bed and slip back into her converse. She grabbed her bag from where she had set it down on the chair by the window and then hurriedly pecked Tom's lips before scurrying toward the door. Mary pressed a calming palm to her sister's back and ushered the girl out into the hall. Edith and Cora were waiting to bring Sybil downstairs to the hospital's cafe so they could eat and catch up. As they headed for the elevator, Mary whispered into her sister's ear how she wondered if they had any liquor because she was sure they could all use some. "Or at least I could," Mary quipped causing Sybil to giggle into the back of her hand.

In Tom's room, Robert pulled the chair near the window over to the foot of Tom's bed. Slowly, he sat down, reclining back in the chair so he could sit comfortably with one leg crossed over the other.

Tom watched, willing Robert to take as long as he needed before they began to talk. He wasn't warned but he was almost sure he knew where this conversation was headed, and he dreaded it for reasons nobody, maybe not even Sybil, would guess. He wasn't ashamed of them, whatever they were. But he did have more than a few choice words for Robert and Cora. They had been great to him, and done more than either of his deceased parents could have ever asked for. But when it came to Sybil, the person who needed them the most, they were detached and lazy. Tom knew, probably more than anyone in this world, that the minute you leave Sybil alone, you're only giving her permission to push you further away.

"Tom…"

"Yeah?" He answered, maybe a little too quickly.

"Do you know what I'm going to say?"

"I have a pretty good idea."

"And?"

"What do you mean?"

Robert sat back and rubbed at his eyes. Then, like a curtain dropping before the start of a show, he let his hand fall to his lap as his eyes caught onto Tom's. "How did this happen?"

Tom swallowed. "You slept with the housekeeper, actually."

"What?" Robert asked.

Tom sat forward. He clasped his hands and dropped them down onto the mattress between each extended leg. "You slept with the housekeeper," he repeated. "And Sybil saw you."

"Well I've gathered that much. But what? I make a mistake and my daughter does too?"

Tom scoffed. "I know you don't get it and really, we didn't expect you to. If we had, do you think we would have kept this a secret?"

"She kept you a secret because you two were intimate, not because of me."

Tom sat back and looked out the window. As his eyes returned to Robert, he saw just how truly clueless this man was; he really didn't get it. And not just this, but lots of things, about life and love and happiness.

"I'm sorry you think that."

"Listen, Tom, I'm not here to argue with you—"

"With all due respect, Robert, I get that. And really, it's not my intention, but if you don't open up your eyes and admit responsibility in all of this—"

"My responsibility? You two—" Robert began, but he stopped himself. Immediately, he was brought to his feet and running a frustrated hand through his pepper hair. He turned back to Tom and pointed, flinging fingers and more accusations in his direction. "So I'm supposed to believe this was all her idea?"

Tom shook his head before looking up. "It was nobody's idea. It just happened."

"She was fifteen, Tom!" Robert croaked. "She was a child!"

"And what was I?" Tom yelled back in response.

"A boy that should have known better."

A silence settled over them, sweeping the room, coating it in layers of static air. Robert stood staring at the door leading out into the hallway with his hand covering his mouth, pulling idly at his bottom lip. Tom sat looking the other way, his eyes fixated out the window as his hands pulled at the threads of the soft fleece hospital blanket. Robert wanted to run and Tom wanted to fly, both far from this hospital and the mistakes they had sworn each other had made.

"You know," Tom began, but he faltered, still unaware of the proper way to attack this situation. Eventually, he gave up. There was no correct way to say these things. Even if he found it, Tom was almost certain Robert would still disapprove. This just wasn't what he wanted for his daughter.

Tom began again: "I love her."

"Is that supposed to make this better?"

Tom bit his lip before continuing. "It should! It does for me," he offered. "And it makes me want to spit that you would even insinuate that I took advantage of her! I know that we were young and maybe it was foolish but I don't regret it and I know she doesn't either. And I'm sorry we never told you but I won't apologize for the way I feel about Sybil. And I won't speak for her either, but I know she feels the same way about me."

"So why weren't you dating then?"

"Why does it matter?" Tom countered.

"It matters because she is my daughter, Tom! She is my little girl. She was my world before she was yours and as I've watched her grow up you have taken her further and further away from me."

Tom coughed out a laugh. "You're kidding, right? I've taken her away from you?" he asked, repeating words he found to ridiculous. "You're insane if you think that." He breathed out again, rubbing at his jaw as he looked out the window again. Then, his eyes snapped to Robert, and words Tom wasn't even ready for, made themselves known. "You're fucking blind."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You have no idea what she wants. You don't LISTEN to her," Tom emphasized. "You think that your happiness is her happiness but it doesn't work like that. If she wants to dance, let the girl dance! Christ, she loves it and she's damn good at it too!"

"You're delusional, Tom. You don't know how hard it is to be a grown up and to have payments and credit cards and bills. She needs a job. A steady one. Dancing is a hobby."

"I'm delusional? When is the last time I ever asked you or Cora for anything? Listen," Tom breathed out. "I am grateful for the way you two took me in after my mam passed. And I am grateful for the way you have given me a family when I didn't have one. But last time I checked, I was providing for myself. I'd be paying for the loft if you two let me. You said you didn't want to take the money because you'd have to write it off on your taxes," he breathed out. "I pay for my car and I pay for my food and I pay for my bills. I'm sorry if you can't admit it but I've been an adult for far longer than even I'd prefer."

"Tom—"

"Can I finish?" he spat.

Robert nodded, walking back and forth in between the space separated the door and the chair he was previously occupying.

"I will say this," Tom said, leaving a moment of silence for the inhalation of courage he needed to continue. "I'm sorry if you feel I disrespected you. I get that it was wrong to do this under your roof when all you ever did was provide me a home. I'm not sorry for it happening but I am sorry if you think it was to spite you. That part was selfish…"

Robert sat back down, again covering his mouth with his hand. He had no words, only thoughts that jumped back and forth reverberating off the walls of his already clouded mind. Part of him wanted to yell, and another part, a part of the man he used to be, was calm, wondering where to go from here. "Thank you."

Tom's head popped up, motivated by the shock he felt at hearing those two words. "What?" he said, his voice now turning to disbelief.

"It is disrespectful," Robert confirmed, causing Tom to avoid his gaze. "But I suppose it's my fault for not noticing. It's clear I don't notice much." He walked to the door as if he was going to leave, but he made no motion for the doorknob. "It didn't take much, did it?"

"No," Tom whispered. "You never noticed how much I was over. Almost every night, most mornings..."

"Christ," Robert breathed out, running yet another frustrated hand through his hair. He knew this was information that was difficult for Tom to disclose, and yet it fell from the young man's lips just as he expected it would; with the confidence of a secret finally let go. "Things will change now."

"Okay," Tom agreed, knowing he had no other option.

"Cora and I have discussed moving you back into the house for the rest of the summer. We're getting you a private nurse so you don't have to come into London for your appointments."

"Thank you."

"You'll get your old room if that's alright. But you'll sleep there and Sybil will sleep in her room. You'll stay out of her room completely and when she's in your room, the door will be open at all times."

"Robert, we're not—"

"These are my conditions," he said, cutting Tom off. "I don't trust you and I most certainly do not trust her. I can't stop what's already done but now that I'm aware of it I can control it."

"And what? You'll lock her up until she's married?"

"She doesn't want to get married so I can't possibly do that," Robert commented, causing both him and Tom, even amongst this tension, to share a set of smirks. "I wouldn't be opposed to you asking for permission to date her."

Tom scoffed. "You're not serious."

"I am."

"I don't know what she wants," Tom reasoned. It was true, they hadn't talked about what they were. The last time they had, she was left crying as he walked out, making both of them so foolishly think this all over, never again to be revisited. "But I do know she'd be furious if I asked your permission to do anything with her. She's not property, Robert. She's a woman and she can make her own decisions. I mean," Tom sighed, "I hope you'd allow it and even respect that this is what we want, but I can't promise I'll ever ask your permission to do anything with Sybil. If I need permission, I'll ask her."

"You don't care what I think?"

"I'm afraid we don't care what anyone thinks. Not anymore."

"And if I disapprove?"

"Well do you?"

Robert paused, thinking of how to articulate what it was he was thinking. He paced again, slowly, then took a long stride that brought him close to Tom's bed again. "I don't know."

"Then I don't know if I care. I'm not going to stop loving her just because you don't approve."

"I didn't say—"

"I'm not waiting around either. I mean, I'd wait for her. But I'm not going to be patient on your account. I've waited three years for all of this to come to light. I'm not going to put the brakes on this now."

Robert laughed. "Then I guess there's no convincing you that you should spend time apart."

Tom looked up to Robert, studying his face and the way his arms hung paralyzed at his sides. It seemed they were talking in circles now, and Tom was doing his best to figure out if he was the dog or the dog's tail.

"She's going to New York in the fall. I don't know if I could leave her alone now even if I wanted to." And then: "Even if she wanted to, really."

"And you're being safe?"

Tom rubbed at the sides of his face then dropped his head, running his hands through his hair. He buried his face behind his hands, thinking of when Sybil thought she could have been pregnant, and then the night of slow, beautiful lovemaking they had when she first began taking the birth control Mary had helped her to get. "Yeah," he sighed, looking up.

Robert was by the door now, and Tom wondered if he'd ever leave or if they'd be like this until they came to a compromise, one both men were sure would never come. Immediately, Tom thought of Sybil and where she had gone. He hoped she wasn't receiving similar ridicule, but if she was, he was sure she was handling it far better than he was.

With his hand finally reaching for the doorknob, Robert twisted the cool metal, but neglected to pull the heavy wood toward him. "All Cora and I need is respect. Respect Sybil and respect our home."

"That's all I've ever wanted," Tom managed, stunned by how honest his own words were and how they came with such conviction. He was sure that Robert didn't hear them the way he had, but he believed in them all the same, and in doing so, he hoped it was enough for Robert to settle.

"This is going to take time, Tom."

"I know that."

"I have things I have to work on and Sybil needs to start being honest with her mother and I." He sighed and opened the door. "We're trying. We really want to fix all of this."

"Okay," Tom agreed, nodding to show Robert he understood.

"Okay," Robert repeated, swinging the door open to reveal the chaotic hospital outside. A nurse walked by pushing a food cart and the sounds of heart monitors could be heard beeping up and down the open hall. Tom smiled at Robert, but he missed it, deciding instead to invite himself into the hallway, leaving Tom no other option but to sigh as he laid back down in bed.

* * *

Thanks for reading, babes! Review if you're feeling it and then go watch Piper's lovely video!

x. Elle


	14. Closer

**A/N: **I don't know why I do an author's note. I am almost positive nobody reads them. Maybe I'll start putting super important information in here like about how I *might* go back to posting once a week until I get out of school in May. Hmm.

* * *

"All you think of lately is getting underneath me  
All I dream of lately is how to get you underneath me  
Here comes the heat before we meet, a little bit closer  
Here comes the spark before the dark,  
Would you come a little closer?"  
_Closer_ - Tegan and Sara

* * *

Tom remained in the hospital for another week, and for that week, Sybil stayed with him, forfeiting dance studio hours to sit by his bedside reading a book while they talked on about things that didn't matter. The things that did matter, like their true feelings and the way her heart and his beat a little bit faster now with their secret revealed, were left unsaid, even as Sybil avoided Shelly's warning and crawled up onto the bed to nap with Tom.

Her parents came to visit everyday, as did Mary. Most nights, Matthew and Max would join her, and the room was filled with a warm pot of tea and laughter as they discussed Tom's internship and Sybil leaving for school. Both ideas made the teenagers smile, but then quickly falter, as they realized how soon it would be until they'd be separated. The world was finally aware of the way they were and now, they were forced to be something else; two people apart, separated by an ocean and hopefully nothing more.

Sybil and Tom took walks everyday, up and down the long corridors of the hospital, essentially moving in a large circle to continue passing the nurses's station before they finally returned to Tom's room to share dinner that Sybil always packed. His leg was getting stronger, and with it, his heart grew more soft, watching how attentive his best friend was.

When it was time for Tom to come home, Robert sent for a car, and Sybil stood with him while he signed his own release forms before they took the stairs down, something Tom insisted despite Sybil's protests. They shared a few chaste kisses in the back of the black SUV as Sybil held Tom's hand tightly, resting both in her lap. Her thumb stroked his hand, providing comfort he was sure she needed more. When it didn't cease, he leaned closer to her, and pressed a warm kiss to her neck. Sybil smiled as parts of her grew hot thinking of how even with all of the time she had spent by his side lately, she somehow missed him. All was temporarily resolved as the car pulled into the driveway of Downton, and the driver helped Sybil and Tom unpack their bags from the trunk.

That was nearly a week ago, and Sybil had returned to dance for a few hours each morning before coming home to spend time with Tom much like they had at the hospital. She'd run up the stairs, no longer wasting time to say hello to him before she showered. He knew she was home by the sound of her house keys hitting the bowl near the door and the creak of wood as she applied her weight to each and every step.

Mary and Matthew had been over for dinner every night this week, allowing Max to camp out on the edge of Tom's bed as the two played video games on the large TV hanging above the fireplace. When it was time for dinner, Sybil would help Tom down the stairs, and each night, the walk to the dinner table became easier. He could walk on his own and his balance was fine, but movement was difficult with a brace reaching from his ankle to above his knee. He managed though, rather stubbornly, Sybil would admonish.

After dance, when the door to her bedroom was only barely shut in its jamb, she'd take down her hair, releasing the ribbon at the base of the bun so she could thread her fingers through the curls, sticky with a coat of hairspray. Next came her t-shirt leotard and then the sheer black tights she wore underneath them. She thought of how her mother would have ridiculed her for walking home in such an outfit, but then rolled her eyes, reminding herself of how beautiful this summer day was and how she wished she and Tom could go for a drive.

She took her time in the shower, lathering her hair and the rest of her naked skin until it was time to jump out and wrap her robe tightly around her body. It was then that her actions were hurried, from the way she slipped into sweatpants she had stolen from Tom's closet when she moved some of his things into his old room, to the way she tossed her wet tresses into a messy bun atop her head, ignoring the fact that she had just taken several minutes to comb through the snarls.

She slipped into a pair of soft cotton socks, but only after she replaced several of the bandages on her toes. Her feet then brought her down the hall to where Tom was laying up in bed, typing away at his laptop. When he saw her, he immediately closed his computer and set the warm metal down on the floor. Next came his black frame glasses, and Sybil smiled, wondering when the last time it was that she had seen him in them and if she had told him, since then, how sexy they made him look.

Biting her lip she giggled and walked toward Tom to place a kiss to his waiting lips. Both teenagers smiled into the action, something that urged both of them to grab onto one another and deepen the connection as if it was all they'd ever need. Sybil believed that there was truth to this sentiment, and she wondered why it was that she ever wanted to keep something so beautiful from the world.

"How was your day?"

Tom smirked, finally opening his eyes. "You mean since I saw you a couple of hours ago? Ehh," he mimed, slowly shaking his hand from side to side to show an unbalance. "Fine, I guess," he offered. "And you?"

Sybil smiled too, thinking of the breakfast they had made together in the kitchen before she had to head off to the studio. He made scrambled eggs while she made toast and sausage. "Dance?" she asked, and he nodded. Sybil climbed over him and then sat much in the way she was with her legs extended down toward the end of the mattress while her back rested against his headboard.

They had never done anything in this room, nothing beyond a few lingering kisses or that one time they made out up against the door to the bathroom before they both had to be at school. If Sybil remembered correctly, they were almost late that day, and now that she thought back on it, she smirked, missing the innocence they once held, even when acting so wicked.

"Dance was alright," she answered, settling on the word when she found no other. "Ever since I accepted my Juilliard offer she's been giving me criticism again…"

Tom raised his eyebrows. "Oh yeah?"

Sybil nodded. "Nothing big—"

"Well of course not," Tom said quickly, cutting her off, causing her eyes to widen as she smirked to keep from slapping him for such rude behavior. He noticed and smiled, urging her to continue. She did, but only after she repositioned herself on his bed so she was sitting perpendicular to where he was, with her legs crossed over one another as she leaned back on her hands.

"She told me she thinks I've gained a bit of weight in my hips. And that I need to stretch more now that I've been out for all this time."

"She's been telling you that since you were little."

Sybil rolled her head; she enjoyed looking at Tom from this angle. "You think I'd learn by now," she said, playing along. "How's your leg?" She nodded her head down toward the end of the bed where Tom's leg was restrained in a brace, suffocating the grey sweatpants he wore around his leg.

"It comes off on Monday. I can't wait."

"Did Chris come yet?" Sybil asked, referring to the male nurse her parents had ordered for Tom. It made life easier for him, and he didn't care if it meant he could be in his own bed away from the hospital. He was sure Sybil had said something to her parents, requesting a male nurse, to which they told her they already had it covered.

It wasn't that Sybil didn't trust Tom, because she absolutely did. It was more that she knew his fantasy, one he had revealed to her when they were sixteen and he suggested, in the middle of their love-making, that she be a nurse for Halloween. Being far wittier than she ever thought was possibly, she slyly smiled and kissed his lips, telling him she liked this idea. When she came down the stairs the next night at her parent's annual party, however, Tom's look of lust was gone. She was in a nurse's uniform, but not the one he was expecting. The hat was similar but this was one she had rented from a costume shop that mimicked what girls during the first world war would have worn in army hospitals. Of course she rewarded him later that night, when she invited him to her room to show him the other nurse's uniform she had picked out. She told him that this was only for him, and then he took his time, ridding her of the tight and slinky white cotton dress.

"Not yet."

Sybil looked up as if being pulled out of a thought. "So you haven't showered yet?"

"Is that disgust or inquiry?"

Sybil dropped her head back to laugh. "Not disgust. You smelled pretty good last time I checked." And then she added: "You always smell good" before biting her lip to tease.

Tom had no option but to smile as silence overtook them. Their eyes said things their mouth wouldn't dare, not after all the promises both of them had made to her parents. Promises that up until today they had done a fair job of respecting. In the quiet, Tom searched his own mind for words to speak, if only to keep himself from staring at the way she sat before him, braless, and in a pair of sweats much like the ones he wore. He wondered when she had taken them and made a mental note, now that he had the time and the confidence, to ask her what it was that she loved about wearing his clothes. He also promised himself that after she gave him an answer he'd counter what she said and kiss her neck as he pinned her down on the bed and told her how hot it was to see her drown in his clothing. Almost as hot as it was when she whispered into his ear, begging him to take them off, he thought.

"I could help you," Sybil offered, her voice appearing so innocently to contrast the clear intent behind her words.

Now it was Tom's turn to be pulled out of thought. Almost as if he was shaking away the ideas he was having, he stared back at her, his mouth agape as he once again tried to formulate a response. "Is that our best idea?"

"Well we've certainly had worse," she flirted.

Tom wondered what she was referring to, if her mind caught on one specific incident, or the various incidents over the years where she had mentioned an idea and he had convinced them both to follow through with it. Sometimes it was the other way around, but barely. It didn't matter now, Tom thought. As she continued to stare at him, her eyes glossing over with the passage of slow seconds, he realized she was talking about them, about all of this.

Minutes later they were in the bathroom, her with a book, and him grabbing for a towel from the linen closet behind the door. She smiled, watching him quickly toss off his t-shirt but then stop when he reached for the waistband of his sweats.

"What?" she asked, confused and wanting, her eyes still trained on the space below his belly button where a small trail of brown hair disappeared beneath his briefs.

Tom smirked. "Turn around."

Sybil's shoulders dropped, but she played along, dramatically turning around and even covering her eyes with both hands, like a little girl playing hide and seek.

She heard the shower turn on. Without warning she turned around, her eyes immediately taking him in, mostly his backside, as he opened the glass door and stepped into the spray of water. She smirked, but soon gave up, deciding she could barely see him now from behind the clouds of steam already surrounding his naked form. With her book, Sybil pushed her weight back into the tile of the wall and let her body slide down. There she sat, pretending to read while her eyes itched to look up and see more than just his feet standing in sudsy water as thick droplets hit the puddles below before dancing away toward the drain.

"How long until—" But she stopped herself, needing more than just confidence to continue. With it, came volume, as she competed with the shower head to be heard. "How long until we can—?"

"Have sex?" Tom asked, his voice thick with the confidence she lacked. He couldn't see her but he was sure she looked defeated. He wondered if she was wearing that pout he loved, the one he always wished to kiss away at family dinners. "Three weeks," he said plainly, deciding it was best not to let her know just how much the fact killed him.

"Three weeks? Dear god." She paused and returned to reading but was quickly distracted again. "Why three weeks?"

"That's what they said. The pain meds I'm on could give me a heart attack if we're together."

Sybil smirked. "I could give you a heart attack?"

Tom shrugged, now running shampoo through his hair. "I guess."

Sybil nodded. "Okay." She returned her attention to her book, her eyes remaining on the same line as she thought of the last time they were together. Not including Mary walking in and her asking him to leave, it had been one of their best. She wondered if he agreed, or really, if he thought about them as much as she did.

"Are you okay in there?" Sybil shouted, leaning out to get a better view of him.

Tom opened the door and stuck his head out, the hair atop his head thick and wet, dripping like the rest of his body. "Fine. What are you reading?"

Not changing how she was holding the book open she flashed him the cover some of which was lost on him by the way her fingers gripped the pages, extending toward the middle spine. He read it, and smiled, thinking that the title of the picture on the front made no difference. Sybil read quickly, and often. Usually jumping back and forth from the classics to more modern fiction pieces, both centered around female protagonists and their struggles in the world. When she was thirteen she told him she had made a habit of picturing herself as these women, something he teased her for. She brushed his comments off and continued to tell him how strongly she wanted them all to succeed and how she was jealous, because in novels, they almost always did. It wasn't until her voice turned sad that Tom stopped mocking her and added that despite not reading most of the books, he wished for the same.

Unable to take his eyes off her, Tom left the door open and stared. This provoked a smirk from Sybil, one that was aided by the way her eyes looked up to him, so full of an idea she was sure he would be against. Still, as she moved, he didn't waiver. In fact, he continued to stare even as she rid herself of all of her clothes and stood in front of him completely naked. This wasn't something she needed his permission to do, but in a way, she felt she was teasing and in a bigger way, she knew he didn't mind as much as he should.

"Syb," his lips tried while his hands reached out for her, pulling her immediately into the shower by a strong grip on each hip. Instantly, her elbows rested on his shoulders as her hands played lazily in his hair. Her fingernails drew circles on his scalp while Tom dropped his own hands down to rest on her bum and pull her close.

She yelped at the contact of skin on skin, but invited it as they reconnected at the lips. When they detached, she allowed it, only once she saw that his lips were traveling south, paying special attention to the sensitive patch of skin above her collarbone. "Missed you," he mumbled.

She nodded. "Me too, babe," she said, feeling his lips sucking at her neck, causing her skin to look stained in a light purple hue. She reached up to touch it but he stopped her, holding both of her hands down at her sides with his own. Instead, he lapped at the skin with the slickness of his tongue, causing her to strain her neck to grant him more access. He had barely touched her and already she felt like she was on fire.

"Tommm…" Sybil moaned, wishing there were words to give him to convey how much she needed him. "Can't we just—"

He shook his head though and pulled her close again, sealing her lips with a kiss that left them both breathless. It was satisfying for as long as it lasted, but Sybil wanted more, and her hands itched to do more than just hold onto him. "We haven't done this in awhile, isn't this—" But he stopped, his words turned mute as she reached down to stroke him. "Fuck, Syb…"

She looked up. Her eyelashes were saturated, making them appear thicker and more black than usual, as if both things were somehow possible. A droplet of water fell, then another, before Sybil reached up and placed the most beautiful of kisses to the corner of Tom's mouth. "Do you trust me?"

He could only nod; already he felt the tingling in his lower spine signaling that he was close. Part of him wanted to hold on, but another part was proud when he realized, rather quickly, that it had been two weeks since they had been intimate like this.

"How do you feel?" Sybil asked. As her words appeared to his ears in a remarkably calm state, Tom found himself even more at awe by this woman, this girl he loved and had always loved, and the way, most importantly, she loved him.

"You're teasing," he commented.

Sybil smiled. To mollify all of this, she placed another slow kiss to his lips. "I'm not. I just want to make you feel good."

It was this that made him gather enough composure to look down upon her. She looked beautiful like this, with her hair turned straight from the weight of the water that ran over the crown of her head and down the expanse of her back. Just the sight of him staring at her with this much want stilled her hand to a languid stroke. "You're stunning," he whispered before seizing her lips against his own. His hands felt idle, and immediately reached up to cup her face and tease her earlobes and the back of her neck in the way that she liked.

After three years of this, Sybil knew how long it took to bring him the edge, and while she preferred to be there with him, ready to jump off together, she knew this wasn't about that. He gave a courtesy buck, one that brought a smile to her lips and gave her permission to begin kissing down his chest, her hand still working slowly on his erect member.

"Syb…" he made out, but she ignored him, her lips now at the base of his shaft. "You don't have to—" His protests were futile and she knew that no matter what he said, he wanted this just as much as she did.

"I want to."

Tom had no other choice but to drop his head back and smile as Sybil slowly took every inch of him into her mouth. The warmth of her tongue and the kisses she placed on the tip of his cock as she pulled back was enough to have him coming, but he stopped himself, gaining the last bit of control he still held onto to watch her staring up at him as she kneeled before him, pleasuring his most sensitive part.

"Fuck," he let out, sure he was ready. She knew, and she continued to stroke him, one hand at the base of him while the other cupped his balls, applying just enough pressure to let him know it was okay to let go. He released, but her mouth remained wrapped around him, and even in the middle of his orgasm he could already feel himself building up again.

A knock sounded at the door, but Sybil did not move. She remained on her knees, the water from the shower head spraying down onto her exposed chest. She milked the last of him before standing, and then, as if she hadn't just given him the most intense pleasure of his life, she pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek and reached behind them to turn off the shower.

"Hey," he said, pulling her by the arm into him as she went to reach for the glass door to the shower. "C'mere." She smiled and the world slowed down as he gave her a long kiss in appreciation for what she had just done. The same smile she wore remained as they then silently stepped out of the shower and dried themselves off.

Another knock came while Tom wrapped both he and Sybil in the large plush towel he left on the heating rack. He rubbed at her arms and kissed her forehead as he gave her the towel and stepped back to grab one for himself. Sybil's was much larger, but she enjoyed how he pulled his own tightly around his waist before rolling it down at the top to keep it on his hips. She smirked, deciding she could never get enough of him in this state, as she began to plan when it was she could have him wet again.

Tom went to the door and opened it just enough to reveal Chris, his homecare nurse, standing on the other side with a worried look on his face.

"What the fuck, Tom?" he spit out, causing both Tom and Sybil to laugh.

Chris was not much older than Sybil and Tom, and was currently finishing up his postgraduate degree at Oxford. He'd be a doctor in just a year, but until then, like most medical students, he spent his time cleaning bed pans and watching surgeries. The opportunity to give physical therapy to the adoptive son of an Earl was given to him, and he took it, not fully understanding what it would entail. At the end of this week, Chris knew all too well how complicated the Crawley family was, and much like Tom once did, he struggled in discovering where Tom fit. It was all made easier when Tom let down his cocky teenage boy guard and began talking, usually about Sybil, and sometimes in jest about the career Chris had chosen. In the end, the two boys found a common ground in which they were comfortable with one another, just as long as sarcastic comments like those usually heard in gymnasium locker rooms, were allowed.

"I'm fine," Tom explained away with a sigh.

"Well, what if you fell? What then? Your knee's not as strong as you want it to be. And wishing—"

"Sybil's here," Tom offered, which only caused Chris' eyes to widen as he thought of what this meant.

"Great, her parents are going to fucking kill me."

Tom shook his head and laughed. He wondered how ridiculous they looked, two grown men talking through a crack in the door like children sharing secrets past bedtime. "Are you going to tell them? Cause I wasn't…"

"Smartass."

In a flash, Sybil pushed underneath Tom's arm and went sprinting for his bedroom down the hall. Tom watched her and Chris did too, and then as the boys eyes met again, Tom furrowed his brows and whispered a warning for Chris to watch where he was looking. Chris rolled his eyes. "Are you serious? Let's give me a little credit. She's barely legal."

"And she's my girlfriend," Tom offered.

Chris quickly countered: "Is she?" before walking away.

His intention was to give the young lovers a chance to dry off and get changed before he checked Tom's leg. What it did was give Tom time to think about the question. Chris was clearly kidding, but there was truth in what he said, truth that scared Tom and left him with questions he was mad at himself for not yet asking.

When he returned to his room Sybil was slumped over, stuffing her legs into a fresh pair of sweats she must have grabbed from his closet. She laughed and the sound made Tom smile as he watched her straighten up and begin to roll the waistband of the sweatpants down to accommodate her much shorter legs. She walked to him and rested her hands on the edge of his towel. Standing on her toes, she leaned up to kiss him, and then giggled as she pulled away. It was clear she found all of this quite amusing and in that moment, Tom thirsted for her ignorance.

"What's wrong?" Sybil asked, throwing her t-shirt over her head, this time covering the black bra she wore. You could see it through the soft cotton material of her v-neck, but it was better than exposing herself to Chris in the way she had done purposely to Tom when she first walked into his room earlier than afternoon.

"Nothing," Tom lied, covering all signs of falter with a smile.

She smiled back, throwing him a pair of boxer briefs and another pair of lounge pants, much like the ones she wore. "What shirt do you want?"

"I don't care," he mumbled, sitting down already to gain enough balance to pick up his legs and pull his briefs on. Without him noticing, Sybil was crouched before him, helping him pull his sweats up over the bruises and cuts that still covered his left leg. She wanted to kiss him, to massage his skin and to show him how much she loved him and how scared she was at the thought of losing him. But all was lost as Chris walked in, bringing with him a large satchel filled with paperwork and some of Tom's daily medications.

Sybil stood up and went to busy herself at the desk Tom used to work at each night before bed. There were still books stacked neatly, with bindings broken from the way he used to bend back the front cover. It was a habit he still had, but he read less lately and wrote more. While Sybil hoped for the best for her female protagonists, he hoped for the best with things like global conflict. It was a love Sybil respected and loved to watch him foster. She hated how he took on the world's problems as if they were somehow his own, but she loved the optimistic attitude he had nonetheless, as if the power of his pen could mollify all ails.

Chris tended to Tom, helping him lay back so he could check the status of his leg. All was healing nicely, he assured Sybil, and she smiled, knowing Tom was far stronger than she could ever be. He was resilient due to the unfortunate cards life had dealt him, but his fortitude was almost always donated and used in her favor. She'd never really had a chance to ever thank him for being such a good friend, and now, an even better lover, as if the latter word also encompassed the former and by doing so, meant so much more.

"Have you been drinking?"

Tom looked to Sybil. She spoke up. "We had whiskey last night. Sorry! It was my idea, I didn't know—"

Chris furrowed his brows as his voice dropped lower. "Just watch it. Your blood pressure's a bit high," he confessed, taking the earbuds of the stethoscope out of his ears. A loud ripping came next as he pulled to detach the velcro keeping the cuff on Tom's bicep. "And drink more water. I know that's it too," he added, as if to make Sybil feel less bad. She smiled and crossed her arms over her chest as she watched Chris hand Tom his pills, vitamins and aspirin mostly, in a small dixie cup. Tom put the cup to his lips and followed it with the water bottle from his bedside table. He swallowed all eight pills in one gulp, wanting all of this to be over with for the day.

Soon Chris was gone, bidding both Tom and Sybil a farewell before shutting the door behind him. Tom smiled at the action, knowing Chris knew the rules, and just like he and Sybil, chose not to follow them.

Immediately Sybil collapsed down onto Tom's bed, and with the fall of her body came a loud sigh. "Do you realize that being in the shower with you is the longest we've been alone since your accident?"

Tom rubbed at his face, feeling the freshly shaved skin beneath his calloused hands. "I'm tired," he mumbled.

Sybil was crawling toward him now, already making quick work to pull up the covers on this side of the bed so she could bury herself into him beneath them. "I'm exhausted."

Tom looked at her and it was clear they were both talking about a different kind of tiredness. Never one to skip a nap with Sybil, a favorite pastime they both had shared since they were kids, he kissed her forehead and then went to stand up.

"Where are you going? Sleep with me!" she whined, much like the childhood version of her would have done at some point in the past.

"I'm opening the door so your parents don't murder me. We've been good so far…"

Sybil's eyes grew cold. Her cheek was pressed into one of his large fluffy pillows causing her to grit her teeth as she spoke. "Tom Branson, if you get out of this bed right now, the only person murdering you is going to be me."

"Syb…"

"We're just sleeping, Tom. C'mon. Hold me, please? It's just a nap and I've missed you."

Tom obliged, laying in the bed so that he was on his back with Sybil curled snuggly into his side. She looked up to stroke his cheek and after deciding her lips were too far from his, she pressed a lingering kiss to the pulse point on his neck. He smiled and went to return the favor, but when he looked down, she was already asleep. Tom wondered if she wasn't sleeping well either, without him by her side and he laughed, thinking of how much Robert and Cora saw now that their eyes were opened.

Tom settled on a kiss to Sybil's forehead. "I love you, pretty girl."

* * *

Thanks for reading, babes! Review if you feel so inclined.

(That is passive agressive encouragement, in case that did not read well over the internet.)

:]

x. Elle


	15. I Do

**A/N: **For some reason this chapter is nearly double what most of my chapters are. I don't know why. It just happened that way. So you're welcome and I hope you enjoy! :]

* * *

"I just want to hold you when the goings tough  
I just want to love you when you're not enough  
I just wanna give you everything I got  
I do, I do  
I just want to fold you up into my arms  
I just want to listen to your beating heart  
I just want to love you just because I do  
I do, I do"  
_I Do_ - Susie Suh

* * *

Sybil sat perched up against Tom's headboard reading the same book she did her best to get lost in while he showered. It was almost dinner now but she wasn't hungry. Tom was still sleeping and the sight of his face pressed into his pillow with his arm outstretched across her leg made her wonder how long she was gone before he was able to find slumber. It happened like that lately, with the two of them chasing after one another, completely unaware that they had been running in circles, searching for another in their sleep.

She did her best to read again. In the hospital, she had been lazy with this fictional world and she was sure this was a book she'd have to read again, not because she loved it like the others, but because her eyes had missed so much while her heart was elsewhere.

Tom rolled over, and seemingly woke himself up. He blinked, staring at the wall, wishing he had woken to her face much like he had that morning when she kissed his lips before sneaking off down the hall toward her own room where her mother would find her moments later. He turned again, this time staring at the ceiling. He rolled his head toward Sybil and smiled as he saw her doing her best to avoid his gaze.

"What time is it?" he asked after deciding he was too lazy to sit up and glance at the clock on the mantle of the fireplace.

"Almost dinner," Sybil stated plainly, with eyes still trained on a page of her book.

"Are we going down?"

"I told Mum to have Carson send up two trays," she explained, finally looking at him.

"She's allowing you to eat up here again?"

Sybil nodded and with a sigh and a shrug, gave him an answer."I guess."

Tom rolled over again and rubbed at Sybil's arm, causing the book she was only barely reading to fall closed into her lap without a page being marked first. "Hey, you okay?"

Sybil moved the book to the floor, not caring if the binding was bent or the pages ripped. That world didn't matter now, and this one, the one where she laid innocently in bed with her best friend, did because it always had.

She breathed out and pushed a stray curl behind her ear. She wondered what she looked like, with eyes glossed over with contemplation as she thought of the best way to ask a question she already knew the answer to. "You love me?"

He smiling, giving both himself and her the time that was necessary for it all to make sense. She had heard him, and yet she remained sleeping, or pretended to sleep, before Tom turned over and left his words behind, ringing in her ears.

Sybil repeated her words: "Do you?"

Tom blinked, and then nodded. With lips that were all too sure he quickly said: "I have always loved you, Syb." But it was what came after, that both stung and comforted her. "I am in love with you," he whispered confidently.

They were both sitting up in bed, with Sybil staring blankly ahead while Tom looked at her, just waiting for an answer. Slowly, she turned her head to him, and begged that he repeat it. "Say it again?" she asked, needing his words. The feelings that accompanied them had been there all along.

"I love you."

"Good," she breathed out, her eyes still flashing open and closed, as if to take snapshots of this moment, and the way he took her in, his lips already curving into a closed mouth smirk. "I love you too. I meant it that day. And I meant to say it before that, so many times—"

Tom leaned in, and she nodded, knowing he needed no permission to do exactly what they both wanted. As soon as his hand was grasping the back of her head, they attached at the lips, slowly at first, then more hungrily. With his thumb so gently caressing her earlobe, Sybil moved her mouth so she had better leverage to nibble on his bottom lip. He moaned, and then growled as she pulled away and took his bottom lip, still in between her teeth, with her. Again, they exhanged "I love yous" and continued their actions, with hands on skin beneath threadbare night shirts.

"We should—"

But Sybil had already pulled back, doing her best to straighten out her t-shirt as she found herself no longer resting against the headboard, but laying down, this time much closer to Tom. "Yeah," she offered with a smile, practically promising him that if trays weren't to be delivered soon, she'd be straddling him by now, with hips placed atop his as they moved in time.

Tom leaned over and hovered above Sybil. She was below him with her head still on his pillow. Her black hair was drying now, contrasting with the light blue pillowcase she rested upon. His arm rested across her abdomen, right below where her chest heaved from the weight of him being this close and looking at her like this. Her parents feared the intimacy she had revealed to them, but it was these moments they should fear. It was moments like these, where Tom said no words, but his eyes painted her up and down, practically shouting at her and telling her how beautiful she looked and how in awe of her he always was. It was these moments that stole daughters away, not the ones spent naked, stolen away under lavender bedsheets as the sun tried to make its way in.

Sybil's eyes were locked on Tom's now, darting back and forth from his lips to the kink in his brow. She wanted another kiss, but she didn't want to distort this view of him staring at her; his gaze made her realize she couldn't get enough of him. It was his arms first, and the way there was a curve with each muscle on his bicep, into his tricep. Then his forearm, milky skin on the inside that was turned to freckles and light hairs hidden beneath a tan he wore still leftover from the days they spent on the coast of the states.

A certain silence settled, and they were sure that any minute Carson would knock and enter, bringing with him their nightly meals. No such action was done, and no noise was heard. After years of waiting and hoping it was nice to be close like this, with words and feeling finally following the same syncopated rhythm they both had always heard but never hummed along to.

"Is this a thing now?" Tom asked, rubbing at her side with his thumb. And then: "Can you finally be my thing, Syb?"

Sybil giggled and smiled brightly. "I have always been your thing."

"God, Syb...I have been so in love with you for the longest time."

Those words came at her with a force and speed that was somehow comforting. Sybil bit her lip, looking down then back up. It was almost too much to face him like this, especially when they both knew that perhaps being together, like this and in a million other ways, could have been much easier if they had just been honest with themselves so long ago. This wasn't just about revealing secrets to her family, but also about admitting truths from within. It was "I love you" and a thousand other words that had gone unsaid. As Tom kissed the tip of Sybil's nose, she smiled, knowing this was a mutual promise being made to talk more, and finally say all of the things they had kept hidden from one another this entire time.

"Me too," she said, her voice appearing gentle and kind. There was a bit of an apology heard, covered up by the smile she wore and the way her cheek bones were high on her face, causing her eyes to sparkle as the afternoon sun filtering in through the window on the far wall began to set, welcoming in its aftermath, the night sky. "Even before that day," she continued, "I just need you to know I would have never given myself to you and been with you like that if I didn't love you. I guess I'm sorry because I wanted to tell you, but I was so scared," she whispered. "I'm still really scared, Tom," she added, a tear strolling down her cheek.

Her smile had faded, but Tom found comfort in the way she was letting go. He reached up, cupping her head in his hands, using the pad of his thumb to wipe away her tear. He hoped the shaking in his hands was enough to stop her from crying. "We're not going to end up like them," he promised. Beneath it all, Sybil heard that he was scared too, and in a way it was endearing that it was something he couldn't admit. To talk about it would only give it power, and Tom wanted nothing more than to have Sybil be with him like this for always.

Sybil avoided his glance, and then her eyes danced back, landing steady, a soft grey on blue. "You have to promise me, Tom. I need you in my life."

Tom pulled her into him, causing his own body to lean back as she gave in. With her head now resting on the breastbone shielding his heart, Sybil listened, but continued to look up at him, watching as the thoughts he held were turned into well articulated proclamations. "I'm not going anywhere."

Sybil thought of him that day in the hospital, so lifeless and still, and how even then, he was by her side. He had always been by her side, holding her, and making her laugh, and putting her own happiness ahead of his own. But she understood it more now, that she was sure he looked at her the same way, and she remembered a time before hospitals and motorcycle accidents when Tom had thanked Sybil for saving his life. It didn't make sense then, just a few weeks after his mother had died, but now, in this bed, it did. They'd be lost without one another, and they meant much more to one another when they were allowed to be close like this, with or without the world knowing.

"But you looked so still in the hospital. And when I got the call I thought you were dead and I ran to the hospital and they explained everything but it didn't change that there you were, lying in this sterile cold hospital room, and I couldn't do anything. I felt so helpless, Tom," Sybil reasoned. "I just remember being so angry with myself. You wanted something that was so easy for me to give to you. I did love you and I have loved you for so long and I think I will always love you," she added, causing them both to smile. It was soon wiped away from her features as she continued. Tom wanted to stop her, because he knew this all to be frivolous and in the past, but he let her stammer on, knowing she needed these words more than he ever did. "I don't know why I couldn't say it. I froze. And I realize how fucked up that is. I just need you to know this was never about sex for me. I don't know why I said it that day and couldn't repeat it to you the next. A part of me had separated best friend Tom from—" She stopped herself, her breath hitching in her throat giving her time to think of how to go on. "I just want you," she settled. "I want best friend Tom and lover Tom and you, whoever you want to be, all the time, until the day I die. I want your ugly parts," Sybil finished. "Because you have always loved my ugly parts and I am forever grateful to you for that."

Tom leaned down to kiss her, ignoring the knock that sounded at the door. They pulled away, their lips hesitant to part even as their foreheads rested, pressed into one another, skin to skin. "You're ridiculous," he whispered, causing Sybil to kick her legs up and laugh. She pushed at him, and the moment was gone, with the two of them practically swimming in sheets as Sybil tackled Tom to the mattress, holding his hands above his head to keep him there. "But I do love your ugly parts."

"Me too," she whispered from lips that seemed to barely move.

This was where Carson found them when he finally let himself in, lost in something still and deep that neither he nor anyone else would ever understand. It seemed wicked now, but Carson was sure he had seen something similar months earlier and maybe even years before. In fact, he often found them like this. Friends, he thought. Only now there was a label to accompany these actions, a label that conjured new thoughts and judgements they never had to worry about before.

Just as if it didn't happen, Sybil rolled off of Tom and went to help Carson with the trays he set on the small table by the door. When Tom used to live in this room, Cora often had flowers placed there, just as she had all the bedrooms. At the beginning of each week, Tom would bring his vase of flowers down to Sybil's room, and she'd smile as if accepting a gift as she placed them on the windowsill in her private bathroom, far away from the vase her mother had intended for her room, which sat on the end table near her bed. They had knocked it over once, spilling water and rose petals down onto the white carpet. Tom remembered how Sybil's eyes widened then, but she held him close to her, willing him to stay inside of her and finish what they had started, before even thinking of cleaning up the mess they had made.

"Thank you, Carson," Sybil said brightly, as if to usher the butler quickly out of the room. The man pursed his lips and nodded, indicating that he would not argue the young girl. Instead, he left the door wide open, a warning her father was still too hesitant to enforce.

They really had been good at playing by the rules thus far, and while Sybil snuck off to Tom's room every night after her parents were asleep, it was for nothing more than a few chaste kisses and an arm to hold her, that she held, as they both drifted off to sleep.

Now, they sat on the floor in front of Tom's bed atop a blanket Sybil had laid out for them. Tom sat down first, reminding Sybil that as soon as he was healed, he'd never let her wait on him ever again. Sybil simply smiled, and walked back and forth from the tray Carson had brought in to where Tom sat, bringing over plates of carefully placed food portions, with silverware, and then finally a glass of ice water.

Finally, Sybil sat down, crossing her legs under her body as she did so. Tom looked up at her from the plate he had already dug into, and she scolded him, as his mother once would have, for not first saying grace.

"I forget. You guys don't say a prayer before the meal."

Sybil smirked. "We're bad Anglicans."

Now it was Tom's turn to smirk. "I don't want to have this conversation again."

"Okay, then we won't have it," Sybil said, agreeing. She was too exhausted and this food was too good to allow a conversation about her views on religion to create chaos with his own. My boyfriend's views, she thought, forking a bit of peas into her mouth.

She looked up and smiled, and he smiled back, and they played this game until their plates were nearly empty. Then, Tom looked at her and spoke: "I found a flat."

"Oh yeah?"

He nodded. "It's close to Mary and Matthew, actually. It's a studio. It used to be a printing press warehouse, but they renovated it in the 80s. It has these great glass windows that look out onto part of the business district."

"Do you have a picture?"

Tom nodded and retrieved his phone from the pocket of his sweatpants. He showed her the exterior, and where it was located on a map of the city.

"I love it," Sybil stated sweetly.

"You could live with me," he offered, quickly wishing he hadn't as soon as he had.

Sybil looked up, her face already dropping. "What?"

"I mean, like, if you wanted to…"

Then a smile appeared across her features, brightening her entire face as she thought about what this meant and what he was really saying. "You'd want me to live with you?"

Tom laughed. "Yeah, why not?"

"I just," Sybil began. "I mean it's your place."

"And you'll be in New York for most of the year. But when you get home, in May, I figured we could spend the summer in London together," he said, then stammered: "You know, if you wanted to."

"Want to?" Sybil beamed. "I'd love that! And," she began, settling down, "I have news too."

"Good news, I hope?"

"Yes, good news. Why do you always expect the worst?" Tom rolled his eyes, urging her to go on. "Miss Ellie wants to open a studio in London and put me in charge."

"What?"

Sybil nodded. "Yeah, it'll open at the beginning of June and she wants me to run it until I go back to Juilliard in the fall. I've watched her run the studio and I know a lot of the girls that would be attending classes."

"And you?"

"What about me?"

"Would you teach?"

Sybil smiled, hiding her emotion as she looked down and pushed at her mashed potatoes. "I want to, but I haven't asked."

"Syb…"

"She was offering me this great opportunity! What was I supposed to do, ask for more?"

"Sybil…" Tom tried. "How many times did I go see Hunter Allen? How persistent was I?"

"Too persistent, in my opinion," Sybil pouted, leaning back on her hands now.

"But I got it. I got the job. What would have happened if I went one less time?"

"That's your thing though!" She defended. "You're persistent and you're confident and you're good at making other people see your side of things! I can't just walk up to Miss Ellie and ask her if I can also teach."

Tom shook his head. "Fine."

"What? Why are you doing that?"

"Me? You're the one selling yourself short," he sighed. "Have you at least talked pay with her?"

"Well, no…"

"Christ, Syb."

"Up until a month ago she thought I was going to Cambridge! This is all a lot, okay? I'll figure it out. I'm sure she already has."

Tom stood up, putting all of his weight on his right leg as he reached down for his plate. "You need to talk to her."

"And them," Sybil whispered, staring at the empty space on the blanket where he was just sitting.

"That I can help with," Tom offered, bringing his plate and the corresponding silverware to the silver tray by the door. "Just tell me when and where," he offered with a smile so coy it made Sybil blush.

She jumped up and shadowed his actions, cleaning up the rest of their makeshift picnic. The blanket they laid upon was thoughtlessly crumpled up, taking with it crumbs from bread rolls and a pea Tom had thrown at Sybil when they first started eating. From where she was standing, Sybil threw the blanket into Tom's hamper, exposing a bit of her stomach which Tom quickly covered as he moved to stand behind her. Immediately, she leaned back into him, letting the feel of his arms and the weight of his body support and comfort her.

He kissed her neck and then nipped at her ear. "You know what's great about this?"

"What?" Sybil asked, not needing to see him to know he was probably wearing that devilish grin she always wanted to smack off his face. The same one that was usually gone only when she gave him what he wanted, her own mouth, as reprieve.

"In a way I feel like nothing's changed."

"Yeah?" she asked, turning around so she could see him finally. Tom's hands shifted, now resting comfortably on each hip. Sybil reached up for him, lacing her hands at the back of his neck, appearing to anyone who would walk by, as two lovers so lost in a dance, they each forgot to move their feet. "Me too," she added, finally. "But," Sybil teased, bringing her lips closer to Tom's as she carried the word out. "It means more," she said, moving her lips against Tom's ever so gently. When he moved in to give her a proper kiss, she pulled away, teasing again, but only because she knew how much it irritated him. "So much more," she reiterated, before finally giving him what he wanted.

They were lost in it, with Sybil repositioning her hands on the back of Tom's head to provide more leverage. This was passionate, and all consuming, and Tom found a way to drag Sybil's shirt upward, giving his hands free range to run lines up and down her back. She moaned, wanting more than he could give, settling on the feeling of his hips grinding into hers through thick layers of cotton.

Her hands were on the back of his neck, grasping at his cheeks, and then sliding down to rest comfortably, flat against the planes of his chest. She pulled away, just like she had before, but even this time she couldn't hold it for much longer than the second it took for their hearts to beat. It was a closeness they craved, one that they'd never be able to explain to anyone else. To do so, would only be to diminish it in strength. Words mades into excuses were futile against feelings they had kept for so long.

A thought flashed across Sybil's mind of jumping up into his arms so he was holding all of her weight, weight he would then use to walk them both to the door which he would shut with her backside. She imagined it just like it had happened before, with them lost in embrace and want, as he slid in and out of her, breathing against her neck as she chanted to him, aloud this time, how much she loved him.

Such ideas were taken from them as a knock was heard at the door, causing Tom and Sybil to separate as the feeling of being watched set in. Sybil's cheeks turned red and she looked to the carpet before turning a bright smile to her father. "Hi, Papa," she said sweetly, hoping he understood her light nature as an apology for her own mistakes, and not his.

Robert was silent, and mostly expressionless. He stood at the entrance to Tom's room with both hands buried deep inside the pocket of his jeans. It reminded them of a time they had been caught playing with a ball inside the house. Tom's mother Helen had ushered them out into the yard to play on the swingset or run through the forest separating the house from the back lot of land where the stables were. Of course a warning was also given then. On a day when they couldn't have been older than seven or eight, Helen Branson warned them of the dangers of being reckless and explained how sometimes in life there are rules too useless for breaking.

"We missed you two at dinner tonight," Robert tried, thinking of no other lie believable enough to ameliorate the tension in the air.

"Sorry," Sybil said kindly. "Tom and I were thinking that we could do brunch out on the lawn tomorrow."

Tom looked at Sybil, agreeing with her despite them never talking about these plans. "If Carson and Mrs. Hughes could manage it," he added.

Sybil smiled up at Tom before returning her attention to her father. "We have things we want to talk to you about."

Cora appeared at the door behind Robert, rubbing her hands together, making fingers mesh and slide as the cream she had just previously applied began to absorb into her skin. "What's going on? What things?" she asked, looking to where Robert was standing.

"We want to have brunch out on the green tomorrow," Robert stated simply. "Do you think Carson could manage it? Would he mind?"

"Well I don't see why not," Cora smiled, looking to Tom and Sybil to see where this idea had really originated. "Is everything alright?"

Tom nodded. "Fine."

"Fine," Sybil added quickly, convincing both her parents and even her and Tom that maybe that wasn't the full truth.

"Okay," Cora exclaimed. "Perfect. Is ten okay?"

Both Tom and Sybil smiled, giving Robert and Cora time to begin to walk away. Cora stopped herself though, walking back to lean on the doorframe. "Sybil, Chris told me—"

"Hmm?" Sybil said, feigning curiosity behind a nervous smile.

"He just said that you've been taking a good job caring for Tom. I just wanted to say thank you. With this school fundraiser and your father's midterm elections, we've been a bit preoccupied."

"She's been great," Tom added, making a mental note to kiss the tip of her nose later and tell how how grateful he really was.

"We'll discuss all of this tomorrow," Robert added, doing his best still to forget about the things he had seen and how tightly his daughter was held in the arms of her best friend, and how Sybil echoed those actions, gripping at Tom, doing her best to inhale all he was willing to give her. "Sybil, maybe Tom wants to rest."

Sybil looked to the ground, rubbing the sole of her foot across the faded persian carpet below. "We were going to watch a movie," she offered, hoping Robert would accept this as evidence to leave them alone. He smiled, and as Cora walked away, he followed her.

Immediately, Sybil dropped her head down onto Tom's chest, hiding the embarrassment she was feeling at the idea of her father seeing her pressed so closely to her best friend now. Again, she reminded herself as Tom placed a kiss to the crown of her head, that he was more than that now, and that this fight was worth it.

"This is normal," Sybil breathed out, doing her best to convince herself of the same.

Tom ignored her as he still felt the way Robert looked at him with such concentrated disdain.

"Christ, he fucking hates me."

"Tom…" Sybil said, her voice trailing off as her arms reached up to rub at his sides. "He—"

Tom looked up, catching her glance and letting it linger. "What did you say?" A week ago it would have been too much, but here, close like this, it was casual and accepted.

Sybil smiled. "I said this was normal. This is what happens to teenage boys and teenage girls. They get walked in on and-"

"We're hardly teenagers anymore."

"Will you miss it then?" She asked. Sybil reached up to tangle her hands at the back of his neck. She used the tips of her fingers to massage the skin there, hoping her actions could soothe him and bring him back to her.

"What? Being young?"

"This. Us. You and me. When you move out."

Tom smirked. "I already live above the garage," he reminded.

"Beyond the garage," she stated confidently, as if painting pictures with her words of the apartment they'd live in together some day and how he'd criticize her for leaving her dishes in the sink and she'd smile and remember to unload the dishwasher next time, as if such domestic opportunities were beautiful and rare.

"We're not going anywhere," Tom reminded, now inviting her to join him in the same sentiment he had shared with her earlier.

Sybil pecked at his lips. "You promise?"

Tom nodded, knowing words could not confirm what he was feeling. Finally, he kissed her nose, and just like she had wished before, she jumped up and he held her, bringing her to the bed, thanking the idea that lightening never struck twice in the same place, for giving them a few moments of privacy before they laid down, separating long enough for Tom to think better of letting her stay the night.

~!~

He had convinced her to leave, but he couldn't convince himself to stay. Waking up in the middle of the night, he chose to ignore the throbbing in his leg as he walked quietly down the hall to Sybil's room.

She was asleep, but only barely. He slid in beside her, and immediately snuggled into her back. She softened into him, allowing his arms to hold her as she nuzzled her face into where his hands held her hands.

This was where Mrs. Hughes found them the following morning, with Cora trailing in behind opening the blinds to let the early morning sun in. Saturday mornings were like this, with old traditions being revived if only to please Sybil's parents.

When Tom awkwardly excused himself to go shower, Sybil blushed as her mother reminded her of the rules she and Robert had set out. Instead of arguing, Sybil just nodded, thinking how there had been so many mornings, not just Saturdays, that made this morning in particular seem so innocent. Their favorite way to fall asleep was holding one another, breathing the other in, naked and warm, as time allowed the night to settle. As her mother skirted around the room, asking Sybil if she had found a dress she wanted for the upcoming fundraiser they were to host, Sybil thought of how already she missed Tom's skin, and she wondered when it would be until she'd have him like that again.

After Cora left, Mrs. Hughes explained to Sybil that she had set her dry cleaning on the back of her closet door, and that the tray by the window was warming tea for when she got out of her shower. Sybil smiled, before excusing herself to the bathroom. Inside, she sent Tom a text: "Normal," she reminded him, hoping it would make him laugh.

When she emerged from the bathroom, he was sitting on her bed, reading the newspaper and drinking some of the tea Mrs. Hughes had set out. "Do they know you're in here?"

Tom shook his head, causing Sybil to walk to her door and lock it. As she walked back to him, she noticed he was wearing khaki's and a light blue button up, with his old ratty sneakers. It was so very him, and yet she wanted to laugh at him looking like this, treating her parents with respect they had possibly not quite deserved. "Nice pants," she commented. "Do I have to dress up too?"

Tom shook his head, scoffing. "I'm not dressed up. Last time we ate on the lawn Mary made a comment about my jeans—"

"Hey, I bought you those jeans and they were expensive."

"Well I'd prefer not to be scolded again."

Sybil rolled her eyes and walked to her closet. She emerged, dressed in a mismatching bra and panty set, holding a soft white dress. Tom remembered that she had worn it for Easter last year, and he wondered if she'd fill it out better now, with a body more confident than it had ever been now that they were both exposed.

He didn't need to watch her, to appreciate the way she moved, sliding the dress over her head. Instantly, she smoothed the material down, before slipping her feet into a worn out pair of brown leather oxfords. "Want to walk into town later? I was thinking we could see a film at the cinema? It's vintage weekend," she reminded.

Tom smiled. "Only if you'll let me take you for tea beforehand,"

It was Sybil's turn to smile as she leaned with her foot on the bed, tying up the laces to her shoes. "Make it ice cream and I'm there."

No more was said about their plans for that night, as they left their cellphones on Sybil's bed and invited themselves out into the hallway, shutting Sybil's bedroom door behind them. At the other end of the hallway, Robert and Cora were coming out of their bedroom. Both couples met at the top of the stairs and began to descend, walking immediately to the front door where Carson was waiting to lead them outside.

The day was warm but a strong breeze blew through the open field, and Tom wished he had a jacket to offer Sybil as she sat on her hands to keep them warm.

"I'm going to book my flight to New York soon, if you don't mind," Sybil began. She wasn't sure if this was the best place to start, but she settled after finding no other options.

"For Juilliard?" Robert asked.

Cora winced and nodded. "That's fine, Sybil. When were you thinking of leaving?"

"We begin on September 2nd. I was thinking I could leave on the 28th of August and give myself plenty of time to move in. We also have orientation on the 1st that I'd like to attend."

"Of course," Robert assured, hoping these simple words were enough to let his daughter know he was trying.

"And you Tom?" Cora asked. "When do you begin your internship?"

Sybil smiled and straightened up, proud of the words Tom had not yet spoken. "I'm actually working on an article right now. I doubt it'll get picked up, but it's a start."

"Cora and I were discussing inviting Mr. Allen to the fundraiser at the beginning of next month. What do you think, Tom?"

Sybil smiled. "Tom?" she asked, needing an answer much more quickly than he was willing to provide one. She hoped he understood this as her encouraging and supporting him, and not pushing the way she always complained her parents had done.

"Yeah, that's great," Tom beamed.

Cora reached for the jam and began to spread it across the top of her toast. "Sybil, have you thought about what you'll do next summer. Will you be staying in New York or should we expect you home?"

Sybil shook her head. "I could never stay there that long," she explained. "I want to come back and stay in London for the summer."

"Should we begin looking for an apartment for you then?" Robert inquired, sipping at his tea.

Sybil shook her head. "I was actually thinking I'd stay with Tom for the summer."

"Oh," Cora attempted, doing her best to smile and sound sweet as she gave Robert a side glance, trying to gauge his reaction.

"Sybil, you know—"

"What your father is trying to say, Sybil, is that we don't know if that's the best idea. You and Tom have only begun dating and London's a big step for you."

Sybil furrowed her brows, suddenly appearing on the defensive. "As opposed to New York?"

"Well, darling," Cora started again, but she was stopped by her own lips pursing in attempts of keeping the peace. "You have always been difficult and we loved that about you but you are a lady and that is inappropriate."

Sybil sat forward and stirred her tea. "It's because we're together now, isn't it? He's still my best friend!" she offered.

"So you two are officially dating now?"

"Officially," Tom confirmed with a bit of sarcasm that caused Sybil to twirl a strand of her hair. Quickly, she avoided his gaze, but made note to ask him about it later. Was he teasing or upset?

"You are eighteen," Robert reminded. "There will be plenty of time for all of that later. There's nothing wrong with you spending the summer at home with us."

"I'll be nineteen then," Sybil pouted. "And besides, I was offered a job in London, so I need a place to stay."

"Then your father and I will pay for you to have your own place to stay."

"Cora, the girl needs to learn to provide for herself. We cannot keep paying for her. We can help Sybil look for an apartment but she should fund it, or take out a loan. And if that's not possible—"

"And then what?" Cora snapped back. "She lives with Tom, then?"

"No, she can stay here at Downton and then take the train in each morning," he explained before finally looking up. "Sybil, what is this job?"

"Eleanor wants to open a dance studio in London," Sybil offered, not yet meeting the gaze of her parents as she spooned a mouthful of oatmeal into her mouth.

"And what would you be doing, darling?"

"Managing, mostly. Getting the business off the ground before I return to school in the fall. I've watched her run the studio for years now and I really think I can do it."

"Oh good, so no dancing?"

Sybil sighed as she looked to Tom. "I don't know yet. I'd like to, if she'd let me, but I haven't asked yet."

"I think management would be good for you," Robert commented.

"For me or for you?"

"Sybil!" Cora hissed. "Can't we have a peaceful meal without things turning into an argument between the both of you. "That is enough. Your father and I are both happy that you've found summer work already and we're doing everything we can to make your transition to Juilliard happy. What more can you want?"

Sybil bit her tongue and then released it, tasting the iron of the blood she let spill under the pressure of her teeth. "I want my parents to be genuinely happy for me. I want you to see past your own selfishness and—"

"Sybil is this about you or me right now?"

Sybil looked down, avoiding her father's glance. "Is there a difference?"

Silence overtook the table, as tea cups were refilled and plates emptied and cleared. "Tom, what do you think of Sybil's job?"

Boldly, he reached across the table and stroked Sybil's hand, covering it and stilling the way her fingers tapped a rhythm on the cream tablecloth. "I think it's great," Tom stated proudly.

"And are we to take this as a sign that you have found a place to live?"

Tom nodded. "I have. I'm meeting with a realtor after I get these screws out of my leg, but there's a place near Matthew and Mary that I really like."

Sybil brightened and Tom softened, realizing it was his happiness that brought her back in. "It's lovely," she commented.

"When will you be moving out?" Cora asked as she set her tea back down. This entire meal had gone by so slowly, and it amazed them all that scones and pastries were just now being brought out, along with a new carafe of tea. "I mean, I assume that's what your plans are."

"That's the plan. I wanted to talk to you both when it was more convenient but I guess now is as good a time as any."

"You know Tom, this will always be your home," Robert began. "Even if you go to London and live there for the rest of your life, we're only a train ride away and you'll always be welcome here for holidays or any days really, for that matter."

Cora smiled at her husband, and Sybil joined in, wanting, for the first time in awhile, to kiss her father's cheek. She had never heard such a sentiment from her father, and while she always wished it was true because it was something she believed, it was nice to finally hear it, and for Tom to hear it too.

"Thank you," Tom choked out. "That means a lot."

"He's right, you know. This is your home. But we understand that it's time for both you and Sybil to grow up a bit. London will be a nice change, I think," Cora commented before biting into a scone.

Sybil pulled a grape off its stem and popped the small fruit into her mouth. "So when can we move in together?" Sybil spat, no longer wishing to keep silent on the matter. "Is it just another summer or do you plan to keep us apart forever?"

"Oh, Sybil…" Cora moaned, holding her head up as if to indicate a headache. "Just give it a rest, will you? We can talk about this later."

"Fine," Sybil stated, rather curtly. "I'll still be over there. You can't control how and where I spend my time."

"Syb…" Tom warned, his voice trailing off.

"You've tried to control me here and you can't even do that. What are you protecting me from? What's done is done."

"Sybil, you are a child! Watch your mouth!"

"I am not a child anymore, mother! What is it going to take for you to see that?"

Sybil stood up, pushing her weight away from the soft whicker chair, causing it to wobble as it decided if it was going to give in to gravity.

"Sybil, can we please—" Tom attempted, but stopped when he saw her eyes, grey turning to green as the sun rose in the sky and painted the side of her face. It only highlighted the anger bubbling up from within her, warning Tom and at the same time, beckoning him closer. "We can do this later."

"Who's side are you on?" Sybil yelped, disgusted and frustrated at her best friend. Wasn't it just last night that he had told her how he felt and she repeated those words back to him?

Tom joined her in standing, but he didn't yell the same way she did. Instead, he took her arm and held it gently, pulling her in as he whispered in her ear. "Your side. I'm always on your side. Do you want them to make this difficult for us? C'mon, love." He then let go of her arm and as if she had been hit with a strong sedative, she slumped back into her chair and stared blankly ahead. Blinking a few times, her eyes caused her brain to readjust, and wipe away the fog.

"Right, sorry," Sybil whispered out, flashing a tight-lipped smile at her parents. "I'm sorry," she managed again, hoping it was enough, but at the same time, knowing better.

The meal carried on, while under the table, Tom grabbed for Sybil's hand and held it on his knee beneath his own. He stoked her skin, and played with each ring she wore, wondering if it was calming her down in the way he had intended. This was Sybil, and he was surprised she was suddenly making apologies for the way she was. He could acknowledge that perhaps she had been a bit emotional lately, but it was only a defense mechanism. He saw beyond all of it, to the layers of herself she kept hidden from the world. Beneath the pointe shoes, and the messy hair, and the attitude, she was lovely and kind and wonderful. Years and secrets had taken these things from her, and as the dust settled, made them harder to find. Surely it was these things, the things Tom hoped Cora and Robert remembered but did not presently see, that always kept them so frustrated with her.

* * *

Thanks for reading, babes! What did we think of the reveal? I know you all were waiting for it, so I hope I did you proud.

x. Elle


	16. Lie in the Sound

**A/N:** I didn't post on Monday. Why? I like to shake things up a bit sometimes. It's frustrating to me that people don't review because they just expect me to post again, because, as history would show, I am faithful to my schedule and therefore consistent with posting. Yes, I write because I love it, but I can do that without sharing it with the world. If I'm going to share this, and I will because I enjoy sharing my work with you guys, I'd like some feedback. If I feel I'm not getting that, I'm reluctant to post. Take that how you will. That's just how I feel.

* * *

"I am falling, say my name  
And I'll lie in the sound  
What is love, but whatever  
My heart needs around  
And it needs you too much now."  
_Lie in the Sound_ - Trespassers William

* * *

It was a cool summer day, with a temperature Sybil hadn't seen since late winter when the snow on the ground was replaced by inconsistent bouts of rain. It chilled her bones and forced her into an oversized sweater as she walked around the house looking for Tom. Dance hadn't been particularly kind to her that morning and she craved to feel him next to her, teasing with words that underneath it all, promised it would all be alright.

Sybil stopped in the library first, then her father's study, where Tom sometimes sought refuge at the desk by the window while Robert was out of town on business. He was at neither place, and she knew his bedroom was empty as she had passed it earlier on her way up to her room to shower.

The last stop she made was a personal one, darting into the kitchen to make herself some tea. Mrs. Patmore was in the cupboard by the door, pulling things like flour and sugar to refill the dwindling porcelain jars kept by the window. As Sybil levied a few teaspoons of tea leaves into her teapot, she listened as the water in the kettle hummed, threatening to shake its metal confinement as it was brought to a boil.

Over her shoulder, she heard Mrs. Patmore enter. The two shared a smile, and a short cordial conversation, one that was confused by Mrs. Patmore asking if she could get Sybil anything.

"No, I'm fine," Sybil let out sweetly, returning her attention to the kettle now whistling, signaling her water was boiling. She forfeited a travel mug, even as she saw the door to the garage open from its place across the lawn. She didn't see Tom inside, but she imagined he was, and she wondered, before anything else, if he'd ever just be able to truly enjoy a day off. He had his leg examined this morning, and she assumed that he was given the green light to resume life as normal. He didn't need a doctor or a physical therapist to tell him he was healed; Sybil did that for him every night as she caressed his arm, practically thanking him for being strong when she was incapable of doing so.

Carson walked in, bringing with him the mail that had just been delivered. "Miss Sybil," he nodded, causing the teenage girl to turn and him and smile. She was lost in the way her tea lightened, mixing milk with black tea and a single sugar cube.

"Is Tom out in the garage, Carson?"

The butler nodded, showing little emotion as he did so. "I believe so." Sybil smiled at his short answer. "Can I get you anything?"

Sybil dropped her spoon in the sink, thinking better of such a childish action only when she was on her way out to the garage. "No, but thank you," she managed, grabbing her mug from the counter.

She said nothing as she excused herself from the kitchen, bringing her steaming mug outside, where the wind blew a bit more harshly than it had in the past few months. The grass was growing higher as autumn approached and with each blade that tickled her ankles she was reminded of the concrete she'd soon be walking on as she walked from her dorm to class at Lincoln Center each morning.

As she approached the garage, she saw Tom inside, moving about behind the large wooden doors with their chipped paint. He was leaning over his motorcycle, collecting bolts in his hand as he took apart the back wheel apparatus.

"Hi," she managed, causing him to look up and smile at her.

"Hey you," he beamed.

Sybil's face dropped, watching his arms stretch and bend as he used a wrench to tinker with grease covered metal. "What are you doing?"

Tom dropped his wrench onto the seat of his bike and as he did so, he stepped into Sybil, still carrying the smile that somehow made her feel uneasy. "I got my brace off," he reminded. "I figured I'd come out and work on this."

"Oh," she whispered, her eyes focusing on the pebbles on the ground and how they were sparse in certain places where years of him fixing engines had displaced the earth.

Tom still wore the smile she had given him, now using it to wipe the grease off of his hands before returning his attention to his best friend and the way she tapped at her lips with an idle fingertip. He stared at her, doing his best to gauge how she was feeling without acknowledging that he was the cause of the kink in her brow and the way her mouth drooped just barely to signal she was less than happy.

"Syb?" he asked, stepping into her again.

"It's soon," she whispered. Her eyes were fixated on the bike behind them, and how parts of the body were scratched and tarnished from the mixture of pavement and heat. "Too soon," she added.

"Syb," Tom laughed, reaching out for her. She stepped back this time, unsure about accepting the comfort he was all too willing to offer up. "Syb, what's wrong?"

She shook her head and stilled her fingers. They no longer tapped but slid this time, over rough chapped lips that just begged to be healed. "I didn't know you'd want to fix it."

Tom furrowed his brow, this time remaining still. He craved her, but didn't wish to put any more distance between them. "Syb, it wasn't the bike's fault. Accidents happen." And then: "I'm okay," he reminded.

"Tom," Sybil breathed out, her words appearing like a warning.

"What's wrong, Syb? I need you to talk to me."

She shook her head and turned away, using the moment when she couldn't feel him staring to cross her arms tightly over her chest. Her arms held her the way she wished he would and in that moment she realized how weak she was and maybe how weak she always had been. It scared her a bit, and thrilled her at the same time. It was uncomfortable and yet somehow reassuring to need someone this much. "I'm sick of feeling this way. I'm sick of being scared, Tom, but I am. And I don't want to be but I can't help but I think this is just us. All of this. The hospital and the disagreements and my parents. It's like we can never be happy."

"Sybil, it's just a bike."

"You could have died!" she screamed. She clenched her fists at her side, restraining them from reaching out to slap him, or even grab him and hold him close.

"I'm not going anywhere," he reminded.

"You can't promise things like that," she whispered. "You don't know."

"Syb," Tom spoke softly, reaching out for her hand. She let him hold her, if only to feel the warmth of his skin upon hers. She wanted to smile, but was unable to, her mouth instead curving into a frown and she thought of how to get out of this. Always running, she thought, wishing she could laugh and make all of this better. "You need to talk to me. I didn't—"

"Of course not," she spat. "I mean," she stopped, doing her best to allow the silence to mollify all of the worry she felt bubbling up in her throat. "Doesn't it scare you? How dependent I am?"

"No...but it scares me how much I need you. I'm dependent too."

Sybil shook her head. "Don't kid, Tom. I—" But she couldn't muster up the confidence to say much else. Her throat felt locked, keeping all she was feeling deep in her chest as she did her best to steady her breathing. "You could have told me," she finally said.

"Syb, it's going to be weeks before this is even ready for the road."

"But I thought you would wait," she reasoned. "We could have talked about it. We could—" A tear fell, then one more. "I just didn't know."

It was slow, but Tom stepped into her only after he was sure she wouldn't pull away. She was weak, he would agree with that, but it was beyond that, where there was beauty in the way she was able to admit to her vulnerability, knowing full well that it was something she sometimes had little control over. His other hand reached out for her and he stood in front of her, holding a light grip on each of her limp wrists. Tom could tell that she wanted to stiffen, to run away and leave him standing there, wanting her back. But she remained, unable to move when he was looking at her like this, using his eyes to mollify whatever it was she was feeling, hoping that the words he was about to say would be enough to apologize for all he had done.

He kissed her cheek, slowly, allowing his lips to detach quietly, allowing a wet imprint to remain on her cheek. Tom's face remained, his mouth close to her ear, whispering things he could only hope would bring her back to him. She stared at him, needing silence to give her time to process the way his eyes settled upon her. "I love you."

She smiled, reaching up to grab the back of his neck and return the same sentiment to him in the form of a lingering kiss pressed to his lips. Tom nodded into the kiss, deepening it as his hands dropped to her waist, pulling her close. "I'm sorry," she managed only when she pulled away to catch her breath. Soon though, her lips were on his again, tasting him and the way he wished to be all she would ever need. "I'm such a mess," she admitted, kissing his lips again to keep him from responding. She didn't need to hear him disagree to know that he would, and somehow such a difference in opinion didn't help the way she wished it would. There was a piece of Sybil that was embarrassed to be this way in front of him, even when she knew that there had been so many times before this when he had seen her in a much worse state. Still, as if now, after all they'd been through, he would drop her and walk away, she hid away, dropping her eyelids to his lips before inhaling him.

Neither of them knew how it had happened, but as skin touched skin, and limbs grew lazy, Sybil had jumped up onto Tom, resting flush against his body as he held all of her weight in his hands. "Please don't be mad at me," he warned, needing all of this to go away. "I didn't mean to—"

Her hands were at the back of his neck, keeping his mouth steady on hers as they nipped at and soothed one another. Her hips ground into his, but only barely. It was enough for Tom to tighten the grip he had on her backside as they stumbled backward, Tom's feet bringing them closer to the door leading out into the early afternoon air.

Tom brought them outside, not bothering to turn off the light behind them or shut the big wooden doors to the garage. Sybil did all she could to keep contact with him as they stumbled up the stairs leading to his loft. When she saw he didn't retrieve keys, she wondered when it was that he was going to tell her he was moving back out here for the rest of the summer. Then she thought better of it, thinking that maybe it was her who forgot to lock it after grabbing him a bag of things to move to the main house.

Inside, Tom pushed Sybil up against the door, causing the blinds covering the window to flap against the glass pane. His lips detached from hers as he decided to press kisses to other parts of her. The sweater she was wearing dropped off her shoulder, giving him plenty of space to love all of her exposed skin.

He nipped and she shivered, craving the same touch that created goosebumps up and down her spine. Sybil found herself surprised by the way he moved, holding her with an agility she hadn't seen even before his accident. Maybe it was true what they said, how events like these and moments that altered you, often changed you for the best.

"Bed," she mumbled, causing Tom to instantly shake his head. He could have her like this and taste the skin of her cheeks but he knew better than to let it go further, even if Shelly and Chris had told him at his appointment that those things were allowed.

Despite his protests, thats where they ended up, with her back pressed against his mattress as they moved in time against one another. Tom's calloused hand caressed her thighs, pulling her legs up so that he could fit between them. Another hand fisted in her hair, holding her face close to his. She moaned, and then pulled away, revealing to him that even through all of his coddling, she was crying. Her face told him things her kisses couldn't, like how she wished she could control herself when she was around him, and how she wondered if this would ever get better, all the while secretly knowing and hoping it would not.

They separated, but only briefly, giving Sybil enough time to sit up and rid herself of the sweater she wore, revealing to Tom that she wore nothing else beneath it. Mesmerized by the way she moved, and realizing what this really was, he allowed her to drag his own t-shirt up over his head. Immediately it was skin on skin, with Sybil's chest pressed flat against Tom's, flattening her breasts against his skin, keeping them close as they regained their breath.

"I'm staying here tonight," she stated.

He said nothing, and the silence he offered calmed Sybil down. She just laid with her arms wrapped tightly around his neck as she rested her head in the crook of his neck. Sybil breathed him in, smelling the lingering scent of his cologne mixed with the smell of grease and oil left over from his afternoon in the garage. Tom's hands spread out upon her back, wishing to press her ever closer into him. They needed this, knowing that things like this, just like their more intimate moments, were never about their sexual wants. Moments like this highlighted the need they had for one another, a need that transcended an emotional trust they always shared. A kiss was not just a kiss, but a secret they were always too afraid to share. This closeness was a craving, one that went far beyond lust and desire. Like growing up, it both terrified and thrilled them. It was a contradiction they accepted, and just like their existence, they knew it was something they'd never be able to explain to the rest of the world. If anyone were to ask, they'd ignore they prodding, instead settling on the comfort they found in one another, and how that was validation enough for all they'd ever been through.

She thought they had fallen asleep, but they remained pressed against one another, never getting used to this contact even with eyes tightly closed. No words were shared, and the only movement they made was to breathe, Tom's chest falling as he exhaled, allowing room for Sybil's lungs to expand in the space he offered up.

It was Tom who finally spoke, letting words hit the air surrounding them. They were meant for her, but he didn't dare look at her as he spoke them. "I sometimes think you love me to spite them."

Sybil didn't skip a beat. She echoed his actions, allowing her lips to reveal words she wasn't even sure the rest of her was confident sharing. "I sometimes wonder if you'd love me this much if your mom hadn't died."

It was everything they had always wanted to say. Amongst the inside jokes and the things they knew about one another, these were vulnerabilities they had yet to share with each other. It was scary, just like Sybil had said. Tom knew that now, and her words stung the way he feared his own would.

"I hate you," he breathed out.

"I hate you," she repeated.

More silence and then: "Syb?"

"Yeah?" she asked, picking her head up to look at him simply because she needed to. She blinked, once then twice, before clasping her lips together and sighing. "I love you," she managed, as if they were the only words left to ever say.

He sighed too. "I love you, too."

She dropped her head back down, no longer needing his eyes to reassure her. "Hold me, okay? I'm not going to let go."

"Okay," Tom breathed out. It was only then that he realized how exhausted he was, and for as much as the world criticized her for needing him, he knew that he needed her just as much. He repositioned his hands on her naked back, rubbing this time, up and down her smooth skin. They hadn't officially been together since before his accident but somehow this meant more. "Your dad asked me if we were being safe."

"What?" Sybil picked up her head again, this time resting her chin on his chest. The worry and stress she felt before was gone now, replaced by a different emotion, one of shock and disgust.

"Yeah, he did."

Sybil laughed, bringing them completely out of their emotional valley and into a state where things were lighter. Tom smiled, but was unable to join her in laughing. "Oh my god! What did you say?"

"I told him we were. Even if we weren't I would have lied," he remarked. "I was terrified."

Sybil shook her head. "I can't believe he asked you that."

Tom sighed, avoiding her glance as he looked out the window. "He thinks you deserve better. He thinks I'm a mistake," he added.

"Well, he's wrong," she stated plainly, dropping her head back down onto his chest. It was clear she was done talking about this, and done entertaining that her father would ever go that far to state his mistrust that blatantly.

Tom thought differently, still thinking of the way Robert looked at him, a glance he had learned to accept over these past few weeks. He wanted it to change and he wanted to be the boy that would always be worthy of the trust from the father of the girl he loved. "Yeah…"

"Tom, he's wrong," Sybil stated again, this time reached up to caress his cheek, demanding his attention. Her lips stilled as she rubbed them together, keeping her mouth from moving in and capturing his. She needed him to trust her, beyond the reassurance of intimacy that they normally offered. It wasn't about that, they had agreed, and it never was, but sometimes that was something they had to convince themselves of, despite always promising that no such things ever mattered.

"Okay," Tom settled, finally agreeing to accept her words as the truth. She didn't push anymore, but instead dropped her head back down, resolving to listen to his heartbeat drown out the doubts he was having.

Eventually Sybil moved, deciding she could be just as close to Tom when nestled into his side. The silence they created disappeared, melting into a consistent conversation about nothing at all. Every so often Sybil would kiss Tom, and as he kissed her back, they breathed in, resisting the urge they felt to revert to their original positions, with Sybil on top of Tom, this time moving her hips against him.

"Tom?" she whispered out, her voice creating light in the otherwise dark room.

"Yeah Syb?" he looked down, craning his neck to see her. He found himself worried all of a sudden, but as she spoke, he wanted to laugh, as he did his best to process her words.

"What if we didn't have sex until next summer?"

Tom's eyes widened. "Um, what?"

Sybil sat up, proving once again, how at ease they were with each other like this. She couldn't imagine exposing herself like this to anyone else, proved to him as she dropped her head back to laugh, not caring how unattractive she may have looked with her neck stretched and her mouth wide open. "Well, I don't know, I was just thinking we could do it. Why not? It's not necessary."

Tom sat up, resting against one of his pillows and the wall. "I mean, it's not necessary, but I like being with you," he said, reaching out to cup Sybil's cheek. "I don't need it, but I want it. It's important to me."

Sybil sighed, closing her eyes to nestle into his hand, all the while doing her best to regain control. She snapped her eyes open and smiled before kissing the palm of his hand. "It's important to me too, Tom. But maybe we need this time without it."

Tom shifted his glance. "Are we proving this to ourselves or to them?"

Sybil sighed, looking down to her hands to where she chipped off some of her pale pink nail polish. "Please don't be like that. This is about us. It's always about us," she settled, hoping he believed her.

Tom sighed. "If you want to, that's fine. I don't know if I think it's necessary, but I'll do it."

Sybil giggled. "It's not a challenge. We'll be fine."

Tom nodded. "We'll be fine."

Sybil crawled toward Tom to press a kiss to his neck. He sighed, accepting her mouth, even as it dropped lower, marking his collarbone. She soothed the skin, running her tongue in a slow circle over the red area before returning her attention to his waiting lips. "It's just something we could try," Sybil settled, somehow nestled back into his side. It brought them both down to a laying position, a place they had found themselves almost every night for the past three years. Finally, she admitted: "I want to have sex with you, Tom. It's going to be hard."

Tom smirked. "It's always hard."

Sybil's mouth dropped open as she picked up her head to look at him. "You are literally a thirteen year old boy."

"Always," he promised, before sticking his tongue out to tease her. She smiled, but quickly captured his mouth against hers, taking with it his tongue, which she applied pressure to as she moved against him.

When they pulled away and Sybil rested her forehead against Tom's, doing her best to catch her breath, she finally spoke: "I loved you before your mom passed, Tom. And I loved you even more after that, but it wasn't because she was gone. I don't know why I fell in love with you. I just did, and I'm sick of trying to analyze it and find the one thing it was that did it. It's not one thing," she settled. "It's a million little things, and I don't need to explain that to anyone else or even me for it to be the truth. I love you. I am in love with you," she emphasized. "I'm done feeling sorry for that."

"Please don't feel sorry for it, Syb. I just–"

With a finger to his lips, Sybil stopped him. "I know."

"I know you're not with me to spite them. I guess I'm just worried you're going to start believing them."

"Believing what?" Sybil spat, suddenly mad at herself for letting Tom doubt the love she had for him. "They don't know what they're talking about. They never have. They're scared that I have someone that respects and loves me - someone I can call my best friend no matter what. They're upset that they've lost that and they're too cowardly to fight for it and get it back."

"It's okay to be mad at them," Tom whispered. "I'm mad at them too, but I want them to fix this. Your parents used to be great."

"We all used to be great," Sybil reminded. "It's like one day you're ten and you have this perfect family and the next, you're almost an adult and everything's changed. How does that happen?"

"Life happens," Tom stated simply.

Sybil nestled into him, creating a sound in the air of the blankets beneath of them shifted to invite both of them underneath. She closed her eyes, but vowed not to sleep, wanting to savor this night and the honesty that existed here. Quickly she thought of how ugly such truths would appear to anyone else, and how beautiful and raw all of this was to her and Tom.

They must have fallen asleep at some point, getting up sometime in the early morning to share a piece of leftover cheesecake Tom had in his fridge. They fell back asleep, but only barely, both teens floating between slumber and being awake, as the early morning sun drifted in through the blinds of the door.

Sybil had left her phone inside when she had come out here yesterday, never once thinking her trip would have led her up to his loft, where they had only made love one time before. The night remained chaste, with Tom still laughing to think of a year without her, as if he had never done it before.

As they fought being awake and tried to remain sleeping, they were both awoken by a rapping at the door, shaking the blinds that hung to keep out the sunlight. Sybil opened one eye, keeping the other tightly closed, as she shared a look with Tom. He shook his head and rolled over and she sighed as she tossed off his comforter and removed his arm from her waist to stand up. She was still naked, even more naked than she was last night, wearing nothing but a pair of soft cotton underwear. She looked around, and shimmied into her shorts before grabbing a flannel from the back of a chair in the kitchen.

As she buttoned up Tom's shirt, she opened the door, and found herself face to face with her father. Her mouth dropped, and she wanted to laugh, realizing how truly awake she was now that her father was staring her down like this. She looked over her shoulder to Tom and it was clear he knew. The two young lovers shared a look and Sybil rolled her eyes, suddenly feeling angry with herself as she thought of who else would be knocking on Tom's door this early in the morning. Had they really thought it would be someone else? Even Cora wouldn't have been much of an improvement.

"Sybil," Robert began, showing a stern tone for seven in the morning. "Did you spend the night here last night?"

Sybil nodded, swallowing the guilt she felt in her throat. As Tom had mentioned a week or two ago, they were doing well, and now, they had done just what they promised not to; they had broken the rules and disrespected her parents. "I did. We fell asleep," she lied.

"You missed dinner," Robert pointed out. "Your mother was worried."

"I must have left my phone at the house," Sybil explained, brushing a stray curl behind her ear. "I'm sor—"

"No, you're not," Robert spat. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair before returning his attention to Sybil. "We're trying Sybil. But you have done nothing but disobey every rule we've laid out. This is unacceptable. The rules are there for a purpose!"

"It wasn't intentional, Papa," Sybil whispered out. "Nothing–"

"If you don't wish to be treated like a child anymore, you must not act like one! Let's go!" he roared, already heading for the steps. Sybil didn't move. Instead, she looked over to where Tom was, hidden from the view of the door as he slipped into his jeans from the day before. His eyes did their best to provide comfort but Sybil's shoulders stayed slumped as she smiled at him and disappeared out the door, not even bothering to grab her shoes from the floor at the end of the bed.

"Papa! Wait!" Sybil tried, hopping off the steps leading down from Tom's apartment to where her father was several paces ahead, already crossing the lawn toward the house. "Papa! Listen to me!" she screamed, holding her fists steady at her sides for controlled emphasis.

Robert turned around, the waist of his sport's jacket following him at a much slower face. His eyes burned red, as he gritted his teeth, thinking of where to go from here. "We are not having this discussion now, Sybil!"

"Yes, we are!" she shouted back, now merely an arm's length away from her father. One hand remained balled at her side while the other rested on her hip, strong and steady and ready to fight. "We were just sleeping!"

"Sybil, I don't buy that for a second."

"Why not? Why can't you trust me?"

"You haven't earned it."

"And neither have you!" she yelled back. "But we have been good. We have followed your rules. Rules I think are a bit futile at this point, but we've respected your wishes." She stopped and then changed her tone. "And what was it that you said to Tom in the hospital?"

"Sybil, that's not—"

"Yes it is, Papa! This is my business. He is my business, alright? I love him! Does that scare you?"

"It terrifies me!" Robert yelled back. "You don't know what love is!"

"No, Papa! You have no right to say that to me. I do know what love is and I know I have found it, okay? You're just bitter because you weren't the one to give it to me! You're upset that Tom has showed me things you never could!"

"Sybil…"

She was crying now, her breathing coming out in heavy sobs that caused her chest to heave as she wiped at her face. "Why can't you just let me have this one thing? Why can't you be happy for me?"

"Sybil, you have no idea what you're talking about."

"Stop saying that!" she bellowed. "I do know what I'm talking about! Stop shutting me down for god's sake! I am not a child and I am not someone you can control anymore."

"Is this about you or about me, Sybil? Is that it? Do you want to talk about the mistakes I've made and how sorry I am? Would that make this better?"

"Nothing will make this better!" she roared, clenching her fists once again. "You lied! You lied to me and you lied to Mama and it was exhausting keeping your secret! And then you finally told her and I had to watch you two fall apart. What was I supposed to do? I was a child! You were the parent," she emphasized, crying even harder now. "You were supposed to protect and love me! But you lied!"

"You lied too!" he reminded, heading for the house again.

Sybil sobbed and then ran off toward him, catching up only as they entered the back door leading into the kitchen. "I lied because you wouldn't approve! You lied because you were randy and selfish!"

Robert turned on his feel, facing his daughter again, now with her pink cheeks and wet eyes. "And you? Didn't you lie Sybil? Didn't both you and Tom lie to your mother and I? Were you both not randy and selfish!"

"That is not what this has ever been about, alright?"

"I'm so sure," Robert stated calmly, only causing Sybil's feelings to heighten and multiply.

"I love him!" She yelled again. "I am madly in love with him! Get over yourself, Papa! Your daughter has found someone she loves and wants to share her life with! And yes, we've been intimate, but don't you dare compare what Tom and I do to what you and that whore had."

"Sybil! Watch your mouth!"

"I will not! It's true! You were getting your kicks because things with you and Mama were rough. Well guess what? Things have been rough for Tom and I and we never gave up! When you love someone, you work through things together! And it is hard, and god, it sucks sometimes, but it makes you stronger."

"And you're the expert now, are you? You're young, Sybil. You don't know what life is and what marriage and love are after you've had them for awhile. I'd like to see you come talk to me after you and Tom have been together for a long time. After all of this newfound bliss fades away."

"Three years is a long time."

Robert rubbed at his forehead, covering his eyes from Sybil's glance. "Sybil, please don't remind me, alright? You're right," he settled. "What's done is done. But you are still my daughter and these are conversations a father never wants to have."

"So that's it?" Sybil asked, slapping a frustrated hand down to her leg. There was clarity in her voice, no longer bubbling over with the hate and frustration she usually felt for her father. "You're sorry and it's supposed to be okay?"

"I don't know what more you want from me!" Robert said, raising his hands in place of the proverbial white flag. "I am exhausted. This is exhausting!" he repeated. "Your mother and I are back and forth with you all of the time. We're working on it, alright? We've set up a meeting with a marriage counselor in London and we'll go once a week—"

"Twice a week," Sybil spat, cutting her father off. She stood with her feet in third position, one tapping at the ground in agitation. "I want you to go twice a week," she finished.

"Sybil, there's no time…" Robert commented, his voice instantly trailing off. "This therapist has been nice enough to fit us into her schedule. We can't possibly go two times a week. And I have work and your mother…" The rest of the sentence never came, and Sybil's insistent smirk fell as she realized her father had lost complete touch with the woman he was once so in love with. She wanted to smile, thinking back to what she said to Tom last night. In that moment, she wished to be ten again, back to before everything changed, if only for a minute of two so she could remember what it felt like to believe.

"It's a start," Sybil breathed out. Her father was right; this was absolutely exhausting. "I'm sorry," she added, finally thinking better of it.

"Lunch is at noon. Your mother wants you there."

"And Tom?"

"You're not to go up there anymore. You can go out to the garage, I can't forbid that, but his loft is his space. If he wants to see you, you both have plenty of room in the main house to spend time together."

Sybil nodded. "I'm leaving him soon," she reminded, biting her lip. "I won't see him until Christmas." If she wasn't so exhausted, so tired of the crying the fighting, she would have let herself cry. But that was a vulnerability reserved for Tom now, where tears dropped like water in the middle of a drought, slow and steadily to the ground before the dry earth absorbed them completely.

Robert sighed. "You're still my baby girl, Sybil. You'll be leaving your mother and I, as well."

Sybil shook her head. "Okay."

Another sigh, and Sybil wondered if her father was also tired. She felt sorry all of a sudden, even though she was sure it wasn't her place to do so. Her father had every right to own these emotions, without any support from her. God only knows he gave her no support for these past few years. Sybil sighed too, and retreated past her father, up toward the bedroom she had left vacant the previous night. As she sat down on her bed she took in the surroundings, the frill of the soft white lace duvet and the tattered curtains that hung like old tapestry surrounding the window. Sybil thought of New York, and how Tom was there for her even when she preferred to push him away, and how maybe even an ocean away, he would still be there for her, and this time, she'd accept the love he gave, if only he promised to do the same for her in return.

* * *

Thanks for reading!

x. Elle


	17. Love, Love, Love

**A/N:** Oh hey. Nothing like threatening your readers to have a bunch of guest reviewers come out of the woodwork. Hi, new readers and reviewers! Enjoy!

* * *

"And these fingertips  
Will never run through your skin  
And those bright blue eyes  
Can only meet mine across the room filled with people that are less important than you.  
All 'cause you love, love, love."  
_Love, Love, Love_ - Of Monsters and Men

* * *

The foyer was crowded, but not in a way that was unusual for any of Cora's fundraisers. This particular one, the same one she had been planning since the beginning of the summer, was to renovate the older wings of Sybil and Tom's alma mater. With Max still in school and Matthew working coming close to settling the Silverman case, Mary helped, and Edith, still in London for most of the planning, worked on promoting the event by inviting donors who had attended Downton parties in the past. Sybil, who was still enjoying the last bit of her summer, was left to watch all of this happen, offering a hand only when flowers were delivered and Carson and Mrs. Hughes were in the dining room carefully laying down place settings.

It had started innocently, the way it could be argued that all things with Tom and Sybil begin. They had escaped, he before she, to the library. She saw him check an email on his phone and then exit, leaving her behind to finish up a conversation she was having with her mother's best friend Claire, and Matthew's mother, Isobel, both donors for the fundraiser.

Sybil bought a dress for the occasion, an Elie Saab number that Mary had picked out and insisted would compliment her dark hair and pale skin. But the youngest Crawley girl settled on a much more casual lace jumpsuit and a pair of simple black flats. Tom only gave his opinion on her attire when he had her pushed against the large bookshelves against the wall, her legs wrapped around his waist as his hands wandered up her thighs, being stopped by the cuffs of her shorts. It was only then that he would have preferred a skirt, one that opened wide at the hem, giving him and his hands plenty of time to tease and touch.

He had originally come in here to respond to an email, a habit he had picked up much to the chagrin of Robert and Cora, who often watched him fade away in conversations only to reappear moments later when his phone was put away in his back pocket and an email to Hunter Allen was sent. Hunter had yet to arrive, but even then Sybil knew that it wasn't an email from Tom's boss that pulled him out of the room.

The room and the surrounding hors d'oeuvres were much more casual than her parent's usual choices. Both Robert and Cora had decided that a more relaxed environment would benefit the school the most by bringing in a more broad spectrum of donations. It still unnerved Tom though, and he felt out of place in his black pants, shirt and tie. Sybil had assured him a sport's jacket wasn't necessary, but in a room full of lapels and loafers, he felt out of place in his old ratty high-tops.

Now he was in the library reading a book on his phone, one he had saved from the day prior when he took the train into London without her. It was his last physical therapy appointment of the summer and it confirmed all he had already known: that he was healed, and that a year from now, he would look back and have to force himself to remember the accident he was once in and the damage it did to his leg.

On the couch, Sybil came up behind him, running her manicured hands up and down his chest, as she nibbled at his ear. His phone was quickly put away as he turned around, immediately searching for her lips as his hands went up to caress her neck. The position wasn't the most comfortable, a thought they both shared as kisses continued to be passed back between the both of them before Tom was on his feet, walking toward Sybil to pick her up before sending them both fumbling back toward one of the many bookshelves lining the walls.

Sybil yelped, but the shock she feigned was quickly silenced as they both gave in, tasting one another for the first time that night. Tom's lips traveled down, sucking and loving every inch of skin along her neckline. One steady hand kept her weight propped up and pressed into him, while the other took her own wandering hand to thread their fingers together before holding it above their heads like some sort of victory flag. Sybil did her best to keep from bucking into him, despite the tingling she felt growing in clouds of warmth at the base of her belly. It was all she could do to grasp the shelf behind her head to keep her body in place.

"Tom," she moaned. "Why did you leave?"

He pulled away from her neck and looked up at her, imagining what she would look like in that dress, wondering where he could take her to give her a chance to wear it. "It's too stuffy in there, love. You know I hate these parties," he commented, immediately returning his mouth to the heaving skin of her chest.

Sybil stopped him, redirecting his eyes up toward her as she cupped his cheeks. "Thank you for coming though," she whispered before placing a delicate kiss to his lips. "You know I appreciate it, right?"

Tom nodded and kissed her back, this time with much more force. She smiled into the kiss, then released her legs from around his waist and dropped her legs down to the floor, needing more support to touch him in the way she wanted to. Now it was not just one hand, but both, with fingers threaded together above their heads, keeping them both stable as kisses were shared like secrets they somehow missed being apart of.

At the door behind them, Edith coughed, causing Sybil to thank Tom for giving her something to hide behind before she thanked herself for having two feet on the ground.

Sybil peered out from behind Tom, doing her best not to drop her forehead down onto his shoulder in the way that she normally would when she was embarrassed. "Hey," she managed, pretending as if her sister didn't just walk in on her and her boyfriend in a deep embrace.

"Hi," Edith sang awkwardly, causing her voice to go up an octave while she stepped further into the room. "Mum's looking for you two."

"Shite," Tom whispered. Sybil shot him an amused look before laughing silently to herself.

"I figured I'd come find you two before she had the chance to," Edith finished.

"She doesn't know our hiding spots," Tom called over his shoulder, still not making eye contact with Edith. Even the middle Crawley sister had to laugh, thinking how true that was. She and Mary had discussed earlier the numerous times lately they had walked in on Sybil and Tom in somewhat compromising positions. Even that morning, Mrs. Patmore had walked in on Tom with his hand up Sybil's night shirt in the pantry.

They had done considerably well lately with Tom back in the loft. Sybil had followed her father's rules and stayed in the garage, and based on the suggestion she had given Tom, they had only made out in the backseat of his car after she brought him out a cup of coffee one afternoon. Then, he helped her to sit up and fought his own urge to pull her back down to him to finish what they had started. She left him with a kiss, one that tingled his lips long after she had headed back to the house to get ready for dinner.

They were back into a routine now, one that had them attending meals and smiling and being polite, even when they both sought to do the opposite. She would be gone in a week's time, and while they rarely talked about it, both Tom and Sybil knew it was something that crossed each of their minds every time they embraced. There would be no morning kisses, or slap fights when Sybil would insist Tom put down his book to pay attention to her. He wouldn't be able to pick her up and throw her over his shoulder only to feel her tiny fists pounding at his back, urging him to put her down, while she let out laughter that told a different story.

"Bar is open," Edith began again. "And almost everyone is here. Dinner's in a half-hour."

Sybil nodded. "We'll be right there,"

Like a warning, Edith tilted her head toward her sister. Sybil just smiled before nodding again. Tom took notice and took the first step, bringing both he and Sybil, who was now latched onto his arm, out into the long corridor leading back to the sitting room.

For a moment, once Edith was far enough ahead, Sybil stopped at a mirror hanging on the wall, doing her best to fix the bobby pins that were already coming loose in her hair. Tom helped her, using his index finger to push one at the base of her bun back into place. As she fixed the rest and began quaffing her curls, Tom wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed one, then another, soft kiss to her neck. She smiled and leaned back, putting her own arms around where his held her tightly.

"Hey, I love you," she stated simply.

Tom smiled. "Hey, I love you back."

They separated and walked hand in hand toward the drawing room where the party was much more lively than when they had left it. People were staring, but they didn't notice. A few of Sybil and Tom's old classmates took special notice, enjoying the way Tom removed his hand from Sybil's lower back upon entering the room, only to stuff both his hands in the pockets of his chinos. It was almost as if they had discovered a secret, one that Sybil and Tom had already dismissed. It was something everyone except for those closest to Sybil and Tom always wondered about, and yet, nobody except the two of them could ever really figure it out.

Already they had stepped back into a conversation with Robert and Cora, where despite words not being spoken, the parents were glaring, practically berating the teens for running off. Sybil just smiled and Tom joined in, knowing better than to explain themselves away. He did, however, excuse himself to get a drink, leaving Sybil behind to have a conversation with her mother, one Tom was all too happy to miss.

He made his way to the bar, where three young bartenders, all male, were mixing and pouring drinks for all the patrons. Tom got in line, thinking how he craved a glass of whiskey, neat. Of course he'd order a wine for Sybil, and get himself a coke, but still he'd want something he thought he deserved, all the while accepting that unlike the other sons and daughters in the room, he had to work for his respect, despite believing he had already earned it.

Tom rubbed at the base his nose, his feet anxiously kicking at the carpet below. "Tom," a voice said.

He looked up, his eyes meeting an impeccably dressed Jonathan Ashford, carrying a drink similar to the one Tom wished for. He wore a suit, one much more casual than the ones both boys had worn to black tie events in the past. Still, he made Tom look and feel silly, a thought that crossed Tom's mind but was not entertained as he stood up and nodded back at the boy.

"Jonathan," Tom tried, doing his best to add a smile to cover up how uncomfortable all of this was making him.

"So you and Sybil?"

Tom nodded. "Yup."

"That came out of nowhere."

Tom shook his head, doing his best to remain calm. "Actually it's sort of been a long time coming." Jonathan studied Tom's face and the way his mouth pulled at the corners, forcing him into a forced smile he wore too well. It caused his own features to droop a bit, realizing that for as much as he always taunted and teased Tom, Tom always had much more than he ever would.

"Good," Jonathan began, breathing out. "You know—" he stopped himself, but then quickly continued, needing to say this. "I think I'm in love with her, like I always have been. I mean, I get that it was never going to happen. She made that clear, but even when she did, she was just so nice." Tom chuckled at this, thinking how for as little as Jonathan knew about Sybil, like the rest of the world, he saw what was important: she was kind and patient and above all, understanding. "You're lucky," Jonathan managed, the words falling slowly.

"Thanks," Tom said, finding no other words to be appropriate. He was lucky, and if there was anything he understood when Sybil told him she loved him just a few weeks ago, it was that. But he didn't need someone, a boy he loathed, if only because Sybil failed to do so, to tell him so. It was his thought to feel and he was exhausted from waiting for the rest of the world's approval.

Jonathan stopped himself again. "I never even had a chance, did I?"

Tom remained, emotionless. The only sensible response was "no" but it was clear Jonathan knew that already, shown as he sipped at his drink and then looked at Tom, before walking off.

Tom slumped again, burying his hands deep in his pockets. He stepped forward, filling in the space in front of him by the moving line. When it was his turn, he ordered a wine for Sybil, as he had planned, and without even knowing it, his own glass of whiskey, neat.

When he stepped back into Sybil and handed her the drink he had ordered, he placed a steady hand to her lower back, and kissed her cheek. She smiled into it, not caring if everyone was disapproving of their display of affection. She loved him, and if they weren't going to listen to her lament, she would just have to show them.

As Tom pulled away, his eyes caught onto a familiar face, and he beamed before turning to Sybil to whisper in her ear. She returned his smile with the same enthusiasm he shared, her eyes searching for what caught his eye. She nodded, and he took her hand and led her off, leaving Matthew and Cora's eyes to follow their trajectory, as the two lovers meandered through the groups of people toward the archway leading out into the hall where Hunter Allen stood in a tweed jacket and thick rimmed glasses.

He smiled, and Sybil looked to Tom for permission to smile back. The gesture made Tom shake his head in amusement and as they approached Hunter, he brought her hand which he held in his own, up to his mouth to kiss her skin.

"Tom," Hunter said in exchange for a hello. "This is quite the house," he commented.

"It's not mine, but thank you. Did you find it alright?"

Hunter nodded. "And this must be Sybil," he began. His words only echoed what his eyes had been forcing himself to think, as they trained themselves up and down, over the expanse of her legs to where her hair was high on top of her head.

Despite doing his best to hide his embarrassment, Tom blushed. "Syb, this is Hunter Allen. Hunter, this is Sybil. My best friend...girlfriend," he finished, still wearing the smile they both had given him.

Sybil wore it too, and she stepped forward, extending her hand for Hunter to shake. Instead, he took her fingers and kissed her hand. Such an action would have normally turned Sybil off, but her eyes widened and her smirk remained as she glanced over at Tom. He wore a similar expression, but said nothing.

"Nice to finally meet you," Hunter said. "I've heard so many great things."

"Not too many, I hope," Sybil spoke. "I'd hate for you to think Tom a liar," she joked.

Hunter chuckled. "Never. You're as beautiful as he says."

Sybil continued to blush. "Well you're certainly as forward in real life as you are in the papers." As soon as she had said it, she reached up to cover her mouth, her eyes even wider now as she stared at Tom, practically asking for assistance.

Hunter merely laughed again. "You're right Tom, she's a total spitfire."

Tom smiled and Sybil returned her attention to Hunter. "I am so sorry," she lamented. "I don't know why I said that."

"Because it's true?" Hunter offered. "Listen, Sybil, if we're going to be seeing one another as often as I assume we will be, you should know that I can take just as much as I deliver."

Tom gauged Sybil's reaction, almost as if waiting for her permission to exhale. Her features evened out, and she sighed, relief overtaking her shoulders and the stance she held. "Well that's good. You and Tom will certainly get along."

"We do," Tom agreed. "Can I get you anything? A drink maybe? Open bar," he reminded.

Hunter just smiled. "I actually want to go introduce myself to Sybil's parents. Thank them for the invite," he added, his voice trailing off as his eyes surveyed the rooms.

"Can I introduce you?"

"No, really, it's fine. You two have fun. I'll see you during dinner, I'm sure."

Hunter walked off, the air of his confidence bringing him to where Cora stood with Matthew and Max. Without hesitation, he introduced himself, and when Cora extended her hand, he shook it. He thanked her for the invitation, and she proceeded to thank him for the generous contribution he had made to aid in the school's fundraising efforts.

Tom leaned into Sybil again, his lips aiming for her cheek, but she turned her face and captured his mouth. He smiled into the kiss, the two of them clearly forgetting where they were and how they were far from being the only ones in the room.

As he pulled away, he kissed her forehead, and she closed her eyes, savoring the touch of his skin against hers, thinking how in just a week, it would be something she'd have to remember instead of feel. "I like him," she murmured.

Tom could only smile. "He likes you. But," he began, changing his tone. "I don't talk about you that much."

"Sure," Sybil teased. "He's gay?"

"What?" Tom asked, his head snapping quickly toward Sybil.

"He's gay," she began. "I just think it's weird it's never brought up in the papers."

"How do you know that?"

Sybil giggled. "How do you not know that? He's far too charming than any straight man I've ever met. And he's impeccably dressed."

"Do you want me to see if he's single?" Tom teased.

Sybil rolled her eyes. "Gay," she said once again. "I really like him. And he likes you," she added.

"I hope so. I mean, I agree, but I don't want to push it."

Sybil glared at Tom. "He came to your girlfriend's parent's dumb fundraiser. And he donated. I'd say, at the very least, he respects you."

"I hope so."

"Hey," Sybil said, grabbing Tom's hand to bring him back into her. "You should be proud. Because I am. I'm so proud of you," she whispered.

On the other side of the room, Mary was talking with Robert, him holding a low-ball glass half full of scotch and she a champagne flute. The two had been in contest with one another since the other night at dinner when, only after Sybil had taken Max to get ice cream from the kitchen, Mary insisted that Robert and Cora explain this affair to both her and Edith. Later, when Sybil heard about this, she was unsure of whether to smile or grow angry, her cheeks already making the decision for her as they turned red and warm. She wanted the story too, and she wished Mary had waited until she was present to drag it out of their parents. Of course they disclosed little, only what Sybil knew, and this made her all the more upset. They owed their daughters the truth, even after they were both working to correct the mistakes they had made in the past.

Mary sipped at her champagne and looked over her shoulder to where Matthew and Max stood with Tom, Sybil, and Cora. Max was standing next to his father in a pair of khakis and a sport coat, echoing the outfit Matthew wore, standing tall above his son. Mary knew that between the two of them, Max would be tall, but it seemed that genetics was proving them wrong, or at least had this far. He wasn't short by any means, just as tall as any of the boys in his class. Matthew promised Mary his height would kick in soon, and with it, his confidence, and with a sweet smile she touched Matthew's shoulder, appreciating how he was the reassurance she always craved.

"Sybil says you've been difficult with her and Tom."

"Tom?" Robert asked. "You're calling him Tom now? What? Your sister thinks she's in love and suddenly it's not Branson anymore, it's Tom?"

"Papa, please! What does it matter what I call him?"

"Mary, we are not having this talk now."

"Then when?" Mary snapped. "Edith and I have tried to get you and Mama to talk since all of this happened but you won't. At least Sybil is owning up to these things! She's being honest, finally," Mary added. "With herself and with you. Why can't you do the same? Last time I checked you were the adult."

Robert sighed. "Not you too," he spat. "You are all growing up and finding your way in this world, but when has it ever been acceptable to talk to your father like this?"

"When is it acceptable to have an affair? When is it acceptable to lie to your wife and your children?"

"It's not!" Robert whispered, harshly. He hoped his own volume would quiet the words spoken by his eldest daughter. "Did Sybil also tell you that your mother and I are going to therapy? That we're working on rebuilding our relationship? We're not giving up."

"Why does Sybil have to tell me that? Why can't you and Mama tell me?"

"Fine, Mary."

"Fine," she spat back, looking over her shoulder once more to show her father that she was done having this conversation. Others, however, tapped at the tip of her tongue, and as much as she loved watching the interaction between Matthew and Tom and Max, she turned back to her father. "She does love him, you know. Very much, I believe."

"Oh?"

"And he loves her just the same. I think that part's always been clear, at least to me. And I think you're so angry because it's been clear to you this entire time as well, and it was the one thing you couldn't control."

"So what? I'm supposed to allow it? I'm supposed to just let them be together under my roof?"

"Papa, stop it! No, I'm not saying that at all. They need to respect the rules. She can sleep in her own room and he in his, but just because they're not intimate right now doesn't mean they won't ever be. And regardless of all of that, they'll continue to love one another. You get that, don't you? It's not about that. And if Sybil wasn't such a mess in the hospital, you'd still have no idea..."

Robert looked up, finally meeting eyes with Mary. "Yes," he said. But it was clear that the answer should have been the opposite, because as a father he didn't get this, and he worried that he never would, even as hard as he tried.

"What is your problem with Tom?" Mary asked, her voice invading the silence once again.

Robert shook his head, wracking his brain for the appropriate response in the same way a man stands before his closet, looking for the proper jacket to go with his pressed slacks. "I don't have a problem with Tom," he began. "I like Tom. I mean, he and I have had our differences when it comes to politics, and now, how he treats Sybil but—"

"He treats her like a queen," Mary whispered, cutting her own father off.

"Does he?"

"Oh, Papa, please!" Mary breathed out. "You know he does! And does that bother you? It doesn't bother you with Matthew. Or with Anthony for that matter. And Tom has known Sybil for far longer than Edith and I have known our partners."

"She's young."

"She's not that young," Mary corrected. "She's much older and more mature than you think. She has a mind and a heart and a body and just as Sybil has always done, she will do with those things as she pleases."

Across the room, Max was looking to his father, the young boy sharing a look he undoubtedly inherited from Mary. Matthew shared a sympathetic smile with the child before flashing his eyes across the room, immediately seeking Mary out. She smiled, then turned back to her father, her elbow still bent close to her body as she lazily held her glass of champagne near her mouth, ready to sip and taste if she found no words suitable for the current conversation.

"Excuse me, Papa," Mary said plainly, a small smirk tugging at her lips. "My son needs me." And then: "Take notes, will you?"

Mary waltzed away, the cocktail dress she wore hugging her hips as she moved to where her son and husband stood. Instinctively, she grabbed for Max, pulling him into her, accepting the love he gave her as a nine year old because she knew that someday soon he'd be much more reserved with her when they were both in public. Robert watched as his grandson asked his mother a question, and without hesitation, Mary nodded, looking to Tom and Sybil as the two teens now approached. Robert was pulled out of his reverie only when Hunter Allen came over, introducing himself much like he had done to Cora, but talking not on fundraising, but on the upcoming election and his temporal status in office.

Soon it was time for dinner, and then, as tea and cakes were served after, Sybil tapped on Tom's shoulder and whispered in his ear. This earned a nod from him, and the two exited the room quietly with Max in tow.

No words were said, but a conversation began as they all walked down the hallway and then down the back stairs toward the kitchen.

Max didn't ask for permission to go to the pantry and grab for a box of cereal. Sybil, who was sitting on the counter now, stealing kisses from Tom while the child was out of the room, accepted that like her obsession with gummy worms, Max too had his vices, ones she would allow him to have with secret knowledge that both of his parents really didn't mind.

He returned, and Tom and Sybil separated, watching as the young boy had his hand deep down in the box of sugar coated cereal Cora bought specially for him. It was nearly empty from Sunday mornings spent at the dining room table, but tonight Max had forgone the bowl and milk and settled on it as a dry snack instead.

"You didn't like the fish?" Tom teased, watching as Max shuddered. He really was the pickiest eater, and no matter how much Mary and Matthew tried to get him to eat the foods they always served, he settled for simpler things, ones a child was expected to enjoy: fried foods, sweet treats, and sugary drinks.

"Can we watch a movie?" Max asked.

Sybil smiled, remembering what it was like to be young at one of these parties where everyone was at least two or three times your age. She was still young, but she had a maturity now that she hoped would be kept from Max for quite some time. If she had it her way, he'd keep this innocence forever. "Are you staying here tonight?"

Max nodded. "I think so. Mum and Dad have been drinking."

Tom snorted, hiding his head from Max so he could continue to laugh. Sybil elbowed him and stepped into Max with her hands on her hips. "Slumber party it is then," she suggested. Her words immediately earned a bright smile from her nephew, one that Sybil then wore before passing on to Tom who had only just stopped laughing.

Max ran up the back staircase, the one that brought them to the main hall, where some guests were leaving and others were milling about, still sipping at the tea that continued to be poured.

Tom and Sybil bound up the stairs behind Max, causing anyone watching to confuse them all for children of the same age.

When they reached the landing, all three of them walked toward Sybil's room. Once inside, the door was shut. After kicking off his shoes by the door, Max hopped up onto Sybil's bed and stood like a little prince, surveying his land. He continued to jump, his sock covered feet hitting the mattress only to send him flying again. As he turned on the television, he changed the channel from the news to the box office channel, and began scrolling through all the posted films for rent.

"What are we watching?" Sybil asked, calling over her shoulder. Her and Tom were sitting now. Tom had an arm wrapped around Sybil's shoulders, pulling her chose. Their feet extended out before them, and Sybil giggled, finally seeing that Tom was wearing sneakers, instead of his usual derby's. It was almost as if he did it for her and the simple ballet flats she wore at her mother's request.

Max relaxed his feet and plopped down, so his legs were dangling next to where Tom and Sybil sat on the floor. He was still scrolling, but his eyes stopped, catching on a familiar title. "Star Wars!"

"We watched that last time," Tom reminded. "Two of them, if I remember correctly."

"Nuh uh!" Max contested. "You two fell asleep and missed all of the best parts!"

"What about The Goonies?" Sybil pointed out. "That's a good one."

Max's face turned back toward the television, deciding that he could continue his argument with Tom at another time. "What is that?" he asked, his voice dripping with ignorant discuss that could only be excused when falling from the mouth of a nine year old.

"It's good," Tom promised.

Sybil nodded. "It's about this group of friends that go on this adventure to try to save their town and in the end they—"

Tom nudged Sybil's shoulder, sending her body toppling away from him. She let out a loud laugh and he smiled for the mere fact that he couldn't contain his joy at seeing her be this carefree. "Don't spoil it!" Tom returned his attention to Max who was still patiently waiting for an answer. "It's good," he said again.

Max shrugged. "Okay." He clicked "purchase" on the television screen and then settled back against the headboard, leaving Tom and Sybil on the floor. As the previews began to play, he ran to the bathroom, and Tom took this time to grab a bag he had stashed away in the back of Sybil's closet.

As he returned, Sybil was busy using the blankets she had pulled from the top of her closet, two old duvets and a few quilts, to construct a makeshift bed on the floor. He smiled, watching her wordlessly answer the question that had been on his mind since they left the party. Just like her, he had thought about how the last time they had spent time with Max, they were lying to themselves and to the world. Now, things had changed, but it was still not enough to change them and the way they were friends first and lovers second, all the while always viewing Max as the family that he was.

Sybil sat down and Tom joined her. He passed her the canvas bag of groceries and she dropped her head back to laugh, realizing what this was. "You're leaving me soon and I think this is our last chance," he tried to explain. "Plus, Waitrose had a two for one special on cookies," he added, causing Sybil to laugh again.

"You're the best!" she exclaimed, pressing a noisy kiss to his cheek. Quickly, she began unpacking the contents of the grocery bag, revealing two bags of cookies, a bag of gummy worms, and for himself, a bag of maltesers. Once upon a time she would have scrunched her nose at the sight, even going as far to smell the wafer and the processed chocolate, but Sybil learned as they grew up, that like the love they shared, it was these things, the things she didn't agree with or want for herself, that she wanted for Tom, as long as he was happy. Then, she would laugh to herself, thinking how even their preferences in sweets made them seem unlikely.

"I got us two bottles of Blackheart too, but I figured we could save those for later in the week."

Sybil nodded. "Stout and The Goonies seems like a fatal combination," she said, her voice serious, causing Tom to smirk.

Max returned, plopping himself up on the bed. Tom offered him some maltesers and the child chomped loudly at the malt balls while Sybil laid out on the floor with her head in Tom's lap. By herself, she had almost finished the entire bag of cookies, stopping only when Max leaned forward to grab one for himself.

"What's sex?"

Tom and Sybil's eyes widened, revealing themselves as shocked and disturbed while they turned to Max. "Where did you hear that?"

"Mom and Dad were talking about it."

Sybil buried her head in her hands and then quickly picked herself up, not wanting Tom to deal with this alone. "Well did you ask them?"

Max shook his head. "I was eavesdropping."

"Well maybe you shouldn't do that," Tom said, doing his best to reason. "That's adult talk."

"Yeah," Sybil agreed. "There's a reason they weren't speaking to you about it." Just as quickly as she had said it, she pictured herself much like Max was, perched up on his elbows staring at both her and Tom for answers. Sybil sighed. She wondered why in the world Mary and Matthew were having this type of conversation, and then she smirked, knowing now that things were never as they seemed.

"They were talking about you two," Max said bluntly. The fact slipped out of his lips just as carelessly as he reached down to grab another cookie from the newly opened paper bag.

Without thinking, Sybil glared at Tom, her eyes begging for assistance. He merely shrugged before letting out an awkward laugh. "Max, why don't you ask your parents."

Max sat up. "Now?"

"No!" Sybil yelped. "I mean, they're saying goodbye to guests. Maybe tomorrow…" she said, her voice trailing off.

"Or in a few years even," Tom added, causing Sybil to snort.

"Okay," Max settled. "Don't you want to know what they were saying?" he added, trying to be innocent as he licked at the chocolate reside left on his fingers from the melting cookie he had just consumed.

Tom looked to Sybil and saw she was just as curious as he was. They said nothing and only remained searching one another's expressions for a more definitive answer. Both teens could only imagine the conversation Mary and Matthew were having, and while it was most likely conservative and respectful, they both were exhausted, to say the least, at having everyone know just how they were feeling, leaving them with little time for growth beyond all of this.

"No," they said at the same time, never taking their eyes off one another.

They all settled back into their previous positions, with Max occupying the center of Sybil's large bed, leaving Tom and Sybil to snuggle into one another on the floor. When the movie came to an end, Max got up to change into his pajamas, leaving the room with a promise that he would return and fall asleep.

"Nine year olds aren't supposed to be exhausted," Tom quipped, referring to Max's word choice. "He needs to be nine. Can't he be nine?" he asked, before adding: "I miss being nine."

Sybil laughed, jumping up and down to pull on a pair of Tom's sweats. "Do you remember that time we went out to the stables and made a mess? And when my father found us, he was so stunned at how dirty we were and how we couldn't stop laughing that he couldn't even punish us? He made Mary's trainer clean it up before his shift the next day," Sybil recalled.

Tom smiled, remembering that day well. Before the hay and the mud, Sybil had flowers in her hair, ones he had picked for her and watched her pull apart to place in the spaces of her plait. "I'd give anything to be a kid again."

Both fully dressed in their pajamas, Sybil stepped into Tom and pulled at the t-shirt he wore. She kissed his lips, but when pulling away, kept her mouth close to his. "Don't go soft on me now, Tom Branson. There's a lot you have left to do in this world. You're just getting started, love."

"You too," he reminded.

As Max had promised, he returned. His presence pushed Sybil and Tom away from one another, and it wasn't until the lights were turned out and Max's breathing slowed down that Sybil pulled Tom into her, insisting he hold her while they fall asleep. This was where Mary found them the next morning, feeling well rested, and satisfied in her choice to trust Sybil and Tom, even when others found it much easier not to.

* * *

Thanks for reading! Buckle up, babes. A separation looms...

x. Elle


	18. Counting Stars

**A/N:** This really isn't me threatening but would it seriously be better if I only posted once a week? My beta is an actual editor and is out of town on a business trip with her magazine at the end of the month and if it's easier for you, I may do that so she's not drowning in editing before she leaves. It would also give a lot of you time to catch up. What do we think?

***Also, as we continue, there will be some extensive ballet references. My beta does not dance, nor has she ever, and she gave me the green light on this chapter and those that follow it. However, if you're confused, don't hesitate to ask. All I'll say is that while on the surface it may seem like we're talking about dance, there's a much deeper comment being made.

* * *

"Suddenly I'm caught in your light  
Opened the door, and you stepped inside  
And I'm watching the hours  
Looking for reasons  
Find that I'm missing every beat of your heart  
'Til you're back in my arms,  
I'll be waiting up, counting the stars."  
_Counting Stars_ - Augustana

* * *

"Do you have everything?" Cora asked, extending her arm to fluff at the pillow Sybil held underneath her arm. It was Tom's, and she knew that at his loft back home, her pillow laid on an unmade bed, the same one they had shared kisses in that morning, when once again she awoke early and darted across the yard to see him before the sun rose. It was where they remained, with boxes packed by the door echoing the bags she had packed outside her bedroom, ones she was sure were already being packed into the car by Carson shortly after she left her bedroom.

Now, at a terminal in Heathrow, it was all too real. The bags she had packed were on a conveyor belt already, she was sure. Other things, like her favorite fleece throw and furniture her parents had purchased for her dorm room were hopefully arriving, as planned, when she got into Manhattan that night.

She was doing this alone, and that's what made letting go so difficult. For once it wasn't her parents pushing her into something where she'd fake happiness that would later turn to complacency. Tom wouldn't be there to hold her hand and her heart, and she'd be forced, through the good and the bad, to go at it alone.

Manhattan was different from London, of course. Sybil had been there many times before, most notably with her grandmother, and, most recently, with Tom. The two had stayed at her favorite hotel, making love up against the mirror in the bathroom, separating only when her grandmother called, beckoning them both downstairs for brunch. Those days and the others that followed, were a fresh taste of what life would be like, or so they hoped, if they had come clean much sooner. But now they were open, open and honest about their feelings about the world and more importantly, one another. It wasn't easy or sweet the way they had planned, and the summer that had promised to be lovely and kind was anything but. She was leaving now, and although they had said so much, there were still things they hadn't said, and feelings they had kept themselves from truly experiencing as the promise of Sybil leaving on a plane for New York, hung heavy over their heads.

Cora stepped back again, leaning into Robert as the two glossed over Sybil and the way her and Tom both looked at them. Their eyes practically begged for a moment of privacy, and they'd be granted that time, just as long as Robert and Cora felt Sybil was truly done saying goodbye to them.

"You have granmumma's number?" Cora asked. "I told her you would call when you got in."

"Don't forget," Robert pointed out, knowing his daughter often did just that. She was thoughtful and considerate of most things, but it was clear how often she got wrapped up in her own involvements and the way her commitment to perfection sometimes caused her to push others aside.

Sybil side eyed her father, and he smiled, and she smiled back. "I won't," she promised.

"Okay. Tom, we'll meet you at the entrance. Robert and I were thinking lunch after this, what do you think?"

Tom nodded. "Sounds great."

Robert and Cora stepped into Sybil and kissed her cheek. Before pulling away, Robert placed another kiss to Sybil's forehead and told her to be safe. She smiled, keeping her eyes closed as she remembered the last time her father had shown her affection and she had accepted it, not to avoid an argument but because she clearly needed the strength he offered.

They walked off, with Robert wrapping an arm around his wife's shoulders, one that she held onto as they headed out of the security area and back toward the terminal entrance where their car waited.

Tom reached in for Sybil, seeking out the small of her back. The action was made much easier as she leaned in, wrapping her arms around his neck to embrace him. He dropped his mouth to her shoulder and kissed the soft skin there. His nose breathed her in, smelling her body lotion and remnants of fragrance from her shampoo, pungent in her still drying hair.

When they pulled away, it wasn't completely. Tom ran his hands up Sybil's back to cup her cheeks, immediately rubbing away the tears he wish he didn't have to see. "Hey, hey, Syb. Don't cry, okay? You'll be home before you know it."

"I know," she nodded before letting another tear fall. "It's far," she whispered.

Tom laughed, doing his best to fight the own warmth he was feeling behind his eyes. "I know, love. But this is what you've wanted and you're going to do great and we're all going to be cheering you on. You'll be so busy because you'll be working so hard, and then December will come and you can fly home. I promise you, Syb. It's going to race right by." Sybil smiled, but her cheeks were still painted red, and her eyes puffy now, from tear drops released. She wished she had confidence to not only believe the words he said, but to not need them as much as she always did. Here, or an ocean away, they would always be the comfort she craved, reminding her of home, and the things she would be working to get back to.

Sybil pulled away. "My flight is almost eight hours." Tom nodded, understanding her need to change the subject. They were still talking about her leaving, but they were in an airport, and it was honest and unavoidable. At the same time, there was a different between acknowledging the truth and harping on it. She would be gone, and soon, he'd be moving into his new flat without her. Thoughts beyond that, ones filled with the hurt of missing one another and all the moments they'd experience without each other, went ignored. "And then by the time I get in, I'll be exhausted so I'll just want to unpack and go to bed."

Again, Tom nodded. He was doing his best to stay strong, but just as she did, he wanted to pull her in again and feel her close. "Call me tomorrow, then?"

Sybil nodded. His words were a suggestion, but she took them as an order. He knew that he needed this just as much as she did. The separation would only confirm how much they loved and needed one another, while also emphasizing how dangerous such thoughts were. They were made to believe that to want someone in this way was silly, and irrational. As if all would be fixed if they were able to be apart for a bit.

"Yeah," she breathed out.

Quickly, his lips were on hers, seizing her mouth as they inhaled deeply. Sybil wanted to smile, but she was too concentrated on the way he tasted her, needing this, if only for what they would soon discover would be the last time. "Three months, love," Tom reminded. His lips were swollen but instead of mollifying his mouth with another kiss, she wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him.

Overhead, an announcement was made, signaling the time, and different arriving flights. Sybil's flight number was not mentioned, and she assumed, if her plane was even on time, that she would have plenty of time now to make it through security and even grab tea and a biscuit to eat at the gate. She just had to let go first.

It happened eventually, but the moments of them losing contact were slow, lasting much longer to the rest of the world as travelers and workers rushed past them, making them both appear all the more still. They said nothing and only smiled, as Sybil readjusted her bag and walked toward the security line with his pillow still held tightly beneath her arm. As she waited in line, she hugged the soft pillow, bringing it up to her nose to smell the fabric. She frowned, hiding behind it as she realized it smelled more of her than it did of him. This was the very closeness, evident deep within the soft material of his pillowcase, that had her convincing herself this separation was necessary. It was more than just her need to follow her dreams and give him time to do the same. It was the idea that beyond their friendship, they had begun to depend on one another, more than they ever thought was possible.

Sybil barely slept on the plane, and spent her time instead planning out her itinerary for the following day. As she told Tom, she would spend the night unpacking. This activity, she was sure, would only be half finished, when at last she would pass out from exhaustion. Orientation was the following day, and Sybil knew she had so many things to do before then. As she made mental lists and to-do's that she was sure would fall to the wayside as time worked to motivate her instead, Sybil wondered what her roommates would be like. Instantly, she thought of high school and how it was always just her and Tom. It wasn't that she didn't like other girls, but that they didn't like her, or rather that was what she was always led to believe, thus making it true.

After her flight arrived, a driver was waiting for Sybil in the terminal at JFK. She sighed, but was too tired to get mad at her parents for coddling her like this. On the plane ride over she had imagined hailing a taxi, smirking as she remembered her inability to do so last time her and Tom were in the city and how it was always his confident hand that secured them a ride.

The driver had already gathered her luggage from the conveyor, and Sybil watched as everything was loaded into the back of the private car. She knew he wouldn't allow her to help him load her things, but she felt better watching than if she had gotten into the backseat, expecting him to take care of everything.

The ride out of the terminal and toward Manhattan was inconsistent. Sybil watched the world outside her window jolt and flash by as they traveled from more suburban areas into the heart of the city. The car she rode in approached a tunnel, and Sybil blinked, accepting the darkness before opening her eyes, realizing she was no longer in an outer borough, but finally in Manhattan. It had been too long, she thought, and now this was her home for the next couple of years.

She and her driver took the elevator up to the twentieth floor to her suite. Behind her, her driver began unloading her bags and the boxes they had picked up from the front office. The girls, two of them on the couch sipping at to-go coffees and the others, milling about from room to room, stopped to take her in. Nervously, Sybil reached up to touch her hair, wondering what it was about her that always made people gawk. She stepped to the side, making more room for each package that was unloaded. It was only then that she realized how ridiculous she must look, arriving without her parents and instead with the help of a man she barely knew dressed nicely in a suit and tie.

Despite being sure her parents had already taken care of all of these things, Sybil tipped the driver and then listened as the door shut behind him. She smiled at the girls, and all of them smiled back before returning to their previous activities. They didn't ask for her name, and she didn't give it. Instead, she began picking up one box, then another as she walked to what she thought to be her room.

A girl, one who was much thinner and somehow shorter than Sybil smiled, but did not offer help. Instead, she asked Sybil if she wanted to join the rest of them downstairs for dinner. Sybil shook her head and politely declined the invitation. Once her door was opened and she set her pillow, bag and the box she was holding down on the empty bed, she wondered if she had spoken any words at all, or if her mere pursed lips were enough for the rest of the girls to tell she had other things to do and that right now, she preferred to be alone.

They all left, and in their absence, Sybil grabbed for the most important boxes, unpacking her iHome to turn on her favorite mix of Tchaikovsky andProkofiev before beginning to unpack the box she had sent weeks ago that contained copies of her favorite pictures, already framed. She did her best to represent all of her family, dedicating certain sets of photographs to her parents and then Mary and Edith. The rest, despite her best effort, were all pictures of Tom. They spanned them from the time they were five and messy to now, still messy, but older, and closer. As time passed and the photographs progressed, they showed a smiley Tom and Sybil standing apart smiling before school, on Christmas, and at birthday parties. Now, they were more personal, with many of them showing moments from this past summer. These were pictures they had taken themselves, ones that meant more, because they showed them as they saw themselves; in love and happy. They didn't need the validation of seeing themselves through someone else's lens to know how they wished to appear to the world.

Her walls were covered now, with framed pictures in clusters and a single poster that displayed a floral background and the feminist hand gesture in thick black font. Quickly, there were other things too, like a record player in the corner of the room near the window and her clothes, all in dress bags, hung neatly in the closet. Twenty floors down was a city that Tom would no doubt love, while the rest of him hung in picture frames and memories, all around this unsettled room. He wasn't here now, but he was everywhere, and while Sybil promised not to call him, her mind had other plans, ones that involved picturing him back at Downton, reading before bed, fighting sleep that would soon come without her.

Sybil opened the door to her room and tip-toed outside. As she reached the stack of boxes she had left by the door, she realized that her suite was still empty, and on a Friday night, all of the street below was beginning to come alive. The lights in all of the girls rooms were off, so one by one, Sybil hoisted each box and brought them to her room, creating a barricade by the now closed door, reminiscent of the forts her and Tom used to hind behind as children.

She made her bed, layering sheets and her favorite throw, before tossing up her new duvet only to watch it land gently atop the mattress. It was then, with her bed made, that Sybil realized how tired she was, and how lately when she talked of being exhausted, it wasn't always sleep she craved.

Without her knowledge, her hands instinctively grabbed for a smaller box, one she had packed last and sent express only a day or two ago. It had her ballet shoes in it, all eight pairs. There were her performance ready shoes, three practice pairs, an almost perfect pair, a pair that needed new ribbons, her favorite pair of shoes, ones she could no longer excuse with restitching and shellac. This lead her to her last pair, the ones that needed to be prepped so that she could then carry them around with her in her purse to start the bond, practically begging them to be kind to her.

She dumped all the shoes out of the box, watching the last pair land on top of the pile, highlighting the dirt and wear each pair held that this one in particular had yet to experience. In another box, Sybil grabbed a small doctor's bag. Like the box of shoes she dumped this out as well, separating the flaps where the zipper aperture normally sealed the bag, only to watch things like dental floss, a paint brush, a lighter, and a sewing needle fall out. Other things rested below them, now making it two piles and a high wall of boxes that kept Sybil protected from the city streets below.

She reached for the brand new pair of pointe shoes. With a box cutter she began shaving and shaping the bottom of the shoe with the sharpened blade. The stiff sole soon softened, but only barely, before Sybil took the tip of the blade and made criss-cross motions across the sole. She bent the shoe inside out, breaking the inner lining, pulling the rubber up and away from it's stitching so she could stretch and bend that too. A satisfactory ripping sound was heard as it came undone, making it easier now for Sybil to continue this process.

She stood up and walked to her carry on. Inside was her favorite nalgene water bottle, which she quickly grabbed before returning to the floor to sit indian style on the cold wood. She unscrewed the bottle and took a sip, then leant forward, splashing water on each shoe where her toes were usually hidden. With the ball of her hand, she pressed into the stiff satin, bending this part of the shoe as well. She stuck her fingers inside of the shoe to pop the material back out before repeating this process again until she felt the shoe, all of it, was malleable enough to endure the torture she was about to put it through.

She was no longer the ten year old she used to be, and after prepping many pairs of shoes, she knew exactly where her ribbons were meant to go. Sybil remembered getting her first pair of shoes, and how Miss Ellie had drawn on her feet in pen, showing where her ribbons were meant to be sewn. It was not a natural inseam she followed now, but a forced one, where the weight of her entire body was held up by the bend of her foot.

Sybil pulled at the dental floss, creating a wire along the span of her arm before chewing it off at the end. She gathered the waxy material in her palm, thanking the material for being stronger than bunhead thread, which she was sure most girls used for fear of looking ridiculous. She thread this through one of the smaller needles from her bag, and then began to stitch a ribbon, then the other, at the inseam of the shoe, on the outer edge of the side quarters. She then restitched, before biting at the floss, causing it to fray then fall away, adding to the carnage of her supplies still laid out on the floor.

She didn't look, but blindly grabbed for her small shears. She pinched the platform of the shoe, where the tips of her toes usually rest inside, and pulled at the soft satin. It stretched, and as it did, she snipped at it with her scissors, creating a hole in the fabric that she stretched before cutting off completely, revealing a bare platform of white. Using a lighter, Sybil ran a flame along the edges of the platform, sealing the cut satin to the under layer of shoe. The same flame was used to seal the edges of the ribbon she had just attached, singeing off frayed edges of thread to make the ties stronger.

With a thick pale pink thread and a much larger needle, Sybil returned her attention to the platform of the shoe and began stitching along the tip of the shoe, to give her feet strength on days when she was feeling tired or lazy. Sybil rummaged, tossing aside unopened bags of ouch-pouches, things she swore to her parents she would wear but always somehow forgot, in favor of the pain she sometimes felt was there to make her stronger.

She didn't know when, but Sybil was crying now, frustrated with the thought of new shoes because if anything, it meant finally letting go of a pair that had brought her through so much. She would wear her most trusted pair of shoes for the first week of school, at least. They would help her show off and gain comfort here, but then, just like leaving Tom at the airport, she'd have to leave them behind, tossing them in a nearby metal trash can because holding onto them was too painful.

A tear fell, and then a few more, as Sybil slipped each foot into her new shoes. She tied her ribbons and then stood up. Instinctively she was transitioning to demi-pointe before dropping her heels back to the floor. Then, before she knew it, she was going from demi-pointe to en pointe, then over-pointe, feeling the material surrounding her feet break and bend naturally beneath the pressure of her movements. She turned out, then back in, being sure to center herself and not sickle. Frustrated by her emotions, she swiped away at the tears that continued to fall, painting her otherwise pale cheeks. She could do this, she thought. She was strong enough and could manage through the pain.

It happened again; demi-pointe, en pointe, and then over, slowly then fast, over and over again. She thought she heard noise outside, but continued to move. As her feet did their best to transition once more from demi-pointe to en pointe, Sybil heard her cellphone ring.

Carelessly, she lost her footing, sending her feet out from underneath her as all of her weight came crashing to the floor. In pain, she crawled, smiling through her tears now, tears that existed due to anger and frustration, and not just sadness. From her bedside table, she saw the screen of her phone light up with a picture of Tom, signaling he was calling. Sybil did the math in her head to think of what time it was in London, and how with it being this late, she wondered why Tom wasn't sleeping yet. He would officially start work with Hunter Allen on Monday, and he was moving into his flat tomorrow. Sybil knew both activities would drain him, and she already felt bad for leaving him to conquer all of this alone, causing her to wonder, fleetingly, if he felt the same way about her: guilty.

"Hello?" she breathed out, her voice just as raspy and hurried as ever.

"Hi," Tom managed. As soon as she heard it, all was confirmed. He did feel guilty for leaving her alone, and now, for calling, when he had made her swear to refrain from the very thing.

Sybil looked down to her feet, pointed and pale, and thought of how for as much as she had seen him working on a car or an engine, or some random mechanical part, she couldn't remember the last time he had watched her prep her shoes, even being in the same room, flipping back and forth between the news and a rugby game while she sat on the floor, bending and breaking satin in her hands. "Are you okay?" she asked, still doing her best to catch her breath.

On the line, Tom reached up to grab his forehead, hiding the embarrassment he was glad she couldn't see. "Yeah…" his voice trailed off. "I miss you," he offered.

Sybil smiled and leant forward, running her free hand to her ankle as if to do a floor exercise. "I miss you too, Tom. So very much."

Tom sighed. "I'm sorry for calling—"

Quickly, Sybil cut him off. "No!" Then her voice settled. "I mean, don't apologize." She inhaled. "I'm glad you called me first. I was just thinking about how sleeping alone tonight was going to be weird."

"You've done it before," Tom said, doing his best to convince her as they both tried to remember when was the last night of sleep they had spent apart.

"Have I?" Sybil teased, a small smirk playing its way across her lips. "How's Downton without me?"

"Weird. I picked up the keys to my flat tonight after dinner."

"I wish I could be there with you tomorrow to help you move in."

Without skipping a beat, Tom replied: "I wish I was there with you today."

"How was lunch with my parents?"

Tom smiled. "Good, actually. I'm surprised you didn't text me while you were at the gate to ask. They were fine."

"Are you sure?"

Tom nodded and then remembered she couldn't see him over the phone. He faltered. "We had a really nice lunch. I forget how fun your parents can be."

Sybil reached down to grab her other ankle, massaging the skin there with her forefinger and thumb. "Please don't ever call my parents fun, alright?"

Tom laughed. "But they are. Or were. I don't know," he finally said. "It was just nice. No arguments, no tension. Your dad and I even talked about the upcoming elections without things getting out of hand," Tom offered.

Sybil's smile fell. "Maybe it's me. Maybe I'm the problem."

Tom sat up in bed. "Syb, don't say that. You're not the problem. There's just—" He thought of a word for it. "There's a lot going on right now. This summer was—"

"Amazing?" She asked, her words finally sounding sincere. "We never talked about it but this summer was really great."

Tom chuckled then rubbed at his mouth, disbelieving of all Sybil was revealing. "Yeah," he agreed. "It really was."

"I mean, of course it was fucked up, but it was nice too," Sybil reasoned. "I was with you."

Tom smiled and his voice got soft. "You've always been with me, love."

"But now the world knew about it, and you knew how I felt about it and I can't tell you how beautiful it was to know that you felt the same way."

Tom exhaled, and then, as if it was the easiest thing in the world, he replied: "Of course I feel the same way, Syb. I always have. I've told you that…" His voice trailed off as his eyes glanced at the clock on his bedside table. It was almost midnight, and while he never would have been asleep this early, like other things, this too was changing as he accepted his new life as an adult, and without Sybil.

Before he could tell her he was going to let her go, Sybil interrupted him, and offered the same bit of advice. "You have to move in the morning. Are they helping?"

"Matthew and Mary and Max said they would but your dad still insists on having the company he ordered come and do it. I dunno, I think it would be kind of fun to do it with everyone. There's not much."

Sybil smiled. She sat back on her haunches, the muscles in her legs stretching and protruding as she contorted her body into a more comfortable position. "I say you let Max do it. He likes a challenge," Sybil quipped causing them both to laugh. "You'll watch out for him for me?"

Tom smiled. "Of course, love. Though, he needs to watch out for the rest of us. He's much cooler and far wiser than I was at that age."

"I wouldn't go that far," Sybil countered. "He reminds me a lot of you when you were little. Only, I somehow think you knew what sex was when you were nine," she began causing Tom to chuckle.

"It's the Irish way," he teased.

"You corrupted me," Sybil stated plainly. "Completely."

Tom rubbed at his mouth again, if anything, to keep him from saying things she wasn't ready to hear, especially not over the phone, a million miles away. "I'm not getting into that conversation, love. You couldn't handle it."

Sybil raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really?"

"Really," he affirmed. "It wouldn't be fair."

"You're awfully full of yourself, Tom Branson."

"Only when it comes to you, love."

Sybil's laughter died down to a simple smile, one she wore well, and usually in his presence. "Hey Tom?"

"Yeah Syb?"

"I love you."

"I love you too, Syb."

As Tom hung up he thought about why he had called in the first place. He wanted to hear her voice before he reached slumber, but he was sure she would have given in and called him by then. He had internalized much of what the world thought about Sybil, that she was vulnerable and weak, especially when it came to him. Now without her, he was reminding himself that he knew better, and that it was false to believe these things that held no truth in their weight. Tom knew dancers were strong, and that ballet dancers in particular were the strongest, despite always appearing to be so weak to those who watched them move. Their size belittled the muscles in their legs and that of their heart, both of which aided in their motion. Tom knew that Sybil was strong for all of these things, as a dancer and his best friend. He saw the way her legs extended for her feet to bend and then raise completely, supporting her fully. His suggestion that they not talk until the next day was more comfort to him than it was to her, and it was easier, he found, to break his own rules than to go against her wishes. When Tom told Sybil he would call her tomorrow, she smiled and corrected him, telling him she'd call him instead. Tom didn't argue.

With the screen of her phone black, Sybil looked around her room at the boxes she still had to unpack and how this meant lots of work for her before Monday. While she was on the phone with Tom, she could have sworn she heard some of the girls return, but the light out in the common room was off again and silence had seized the suite once more. Having no choice but to accept all of this, Sybil sat forward and slowly began to untie the ribbons keeping her pointe shoes tight to her feet. She examined her handiwork, and the way her cutting shears had missed a few fray edges on the platform of the shoe that she would have to sear off with her lighter. She stood, holding her new shoes and staring at the piles that remained, of boxes, and ballet shoes, and her prepping kit. Her new shoes were placed in her leather satchel, the same bag she imagined she'd be carrying around the city tomorrow, and all the other days until Christmas. Sybil turned the light to her dorm room off and settled into bed, not even bothering to change into pajamas. She stretched her toes out and snuggled her face into the plushness of Tom's pillow while the night sky of the city painted the exposed side of her face.

* * *

It terrifies me a bit that you're all so averse to this separation. There is beauty in distance, friends.

How did I do though? Not too bad, right?

x. Elle


	19. Breathe

**A/N:** I'm worried you all might be a bit bored by this. There are a million subtleties sprinkled throughout this, but on the whole, it may drag a bit. I don't know. Maybe I'm being paranoid. Feedback would be excellent, and remember - even if we're talking about dancing, it's not actually the dancing that is important. It's okay if you don't know what a battement demi rond tendu is. I promise you, it's superfluous, and there are few chapters that are specifically dance-related.

Am I even making sense?

**Disclaimer:** Any characters resembling actual retired Juilliard professors or students of the like, are examples of pure coincidence. Originally I used real names and then saw my life flash before my eyes as I remembered my parents are LinCen-Met patrons and if anyone ever discovered this fic I would forever be ruined. So again, mere coincidences.

* * *

"She's fine, most of the time  
She takes her days with a smile  
She moves like, a dancer in light  
Spinning around to the sound  
But sometimes she falls down."  
_Breathe_ - Ryan Star

* * *

Sybil usually enjoyed sleeping in, but it was clear, that even with the city still asleep, her body and mind had different plans. The night before, she had found slumber quite easily, but the act of keeping it was a failure. She spent most of the night tossing and turning, readjusting her blanket around her shoulders only to wake up around four in the morning with her covers kicked off her body and onto the floor. She showered, finding it odd even with nobody else awake, that she had to walk to the bathroom in her robe and return nearly a half hour later, both times carrying her dripping shower caddy as her wet feet slapped against the dusty floor.

It wasn't home, and perhaps it never would be, but as she watched the sun come up over the Hudson River, she motivated herself to quickly slip into a soft cotton dress and her old motorcycle boots before throwing her jean jacket on and heading for the door. With her satchel slung over her shoulder, she checked for the necessary contents before locking the suite behind her. Her new shoes, her keys, and her wallet were all tucked away at the bottom of the bag. She forfeited the elevator and instead took the stairs, a choice she regretted by the time she hit the seventh floor. She hadn't stretched yet that morning, but she wanted to, and she wondered how soon it would be before she could rent a practice room and bend her toes against a medicine ball for an hour or two. Her body ached to move and jump and prove to herself, before classes even began, all the reasons why she had left London and her home and Tom. It would all make sense, she thought, and someday she'd be able to look back on it, this day and the subsequent year, and wonder what caused her hesitation in the first place.

The security guard at the front desk nodded at Sybil and then returned to his morning paper as she pushed through the turnstile and then out the front doors. Once outside, she gave up her usual habit of listening to music, and instead began to take in her surroundings as she headed uptown to grab a cup of tea.

Last summer, when her and Tom had visited Manhattan to see her grandmother, when Martha still had her apartment on East 79th Street, they had found this small coffee shop, one with the warmth of their favorite cafe in Downton, but the consistency of many of the London chains. She remembered how Tom had spent that entire vacation ordering espresso for no other reason than he liked the taste. When it was time for them to sleep at night, his body stilled and his breathing slowed down, and when Sybil reached up to wrap her arms around his neck, she often found that he was asleep long before she was.

Sybil entered the cafe and was happy to find it less crowded than usual, giving her time to scour the menu for the perfect breakfast treats, ones she could eat as she meandered back through Central Park before returning to campus for orientation.

"Can I help you?" the blonde at the counter asked. Sybil met her glance and smiled, still tapping at her lips with the tip of her finger. Like the girl behind the counter, she wore many rings on her hands.

Sybil stepped closer to the cashier. "Can I get a white chocolate raspberry scone and…" Her eyes scanned the menu again. She couldn't decide between the citrus white tea or the breakfast tea. Her lips, however, had already made a decision and she ordered a drink she wasn't even sure she craved. "A large cafe noisette," she said.

As Sybil waited for her drink, she stuffed her freshly baked scone into her bag and retrieved her cellphone so that she could begin texting Tom. "Hope unpacking is going well! Love and miss you! xx."

She held her phone until her name was called, signifying that her drink was ready. Only then did she put her phone back into her bag, giving up on the idea that he would respond immediately. He was busy, she told herself. He had a life, one that was much more hesitant to let her into, now that she was so far away. This was normal, she reminded herself, echoing words she had promised the both of them nearly a month ago when they were still trying to figure themselves out. They had made good time of the remaining summer days, and they felt comfortable in their relationship. Now, Sybil was in New York, and Tom was on his way to London, and this part of their relationship, where both intimacy and distance separated them, was something Sybil had never guessed they'd be forced to figure out.

Her phone still made no noise as Sybil untied her scarf from the strap of her satchel to wrap it around her neck. The wind, if she could recall, was especially strong this time of morning when walking parallel to the pond. No boats floated down, and barely anyone except for a few joggers and one mother, pushing a stroller and walking her dog, filled the wide concrete path. To distract her mind, Sybil sipped, slowly at first, then more fully, at her eco-friendly to-go cup. At first she didn't know why she had ordered a large, or what had pushed her to order a drink made mostly with espresso in the first place, but after the first sip, she remembered kissing Tom in a spot just like this one, and suddenly, it wasn't worth questioning her decision.

She could have gone underground, or hailed a taxi, but she enjoyed the walk, and forced herself to slow down as the city began to wake up, making her blend in as she headed back across town. This was what Sybil liked about New York; there was anonymity here not afforded to her by Downton, or even London. There, she was the daughter of an Earl, Mary's sister, and Tom's best friend. Here, even if people knew her grandmother and her parents, they weren't likely to stop her on the street and ask her about them. Everyone here had a place to be, or so they told themselves. There was a weight and an importance about New York unknown to London, or any other European city for that matter. Not because this city was any more important, but because the people here were different and unconcerned with proving the rest of the world wrong when it came to beliefs about how they acted. Dreams and hurried lifestyles bolstered these ideals and made them all the more real.

Right before ten o'clock, Sybil arrived at the lecture hall where orientation would be held. Already, the large room contained most of the students and some of the instructors for Juilliard's dance program. Altogether, just like every year past, there would be a freshmen class of twenty four; twelve girls and twelve boys. In a small number compared to previous years, only three girls performed en pointe, but Sybil was the only one whose primary field of study was pointe technique. It was a change the school welcomed, but one that made Sybil doubt herself, as she already began to wonder if she'd have enough to offer these people, the same teachers that she had looked up to from their time performing as members of her favorite global dance troupes.

Slowly, Sybil's own weight brought her down toward the front of the lecture hall, where some of the girls from Sybil's suite and others she assumed lived in the suite across the hall, sat chatting. She smiled at them and they smiled back, but none moved to invite her to sit with them. Her fingers itched to take her phone out of her bag as she sat down, but it remained, tucked in the little pocket meant for it on the inside of Sybil's shoulder bag.

A few of the teachers down front smiled at Sybil, and she waved at some of them, remembering them well from when she visited last fall and danced for them. It was October then, and she had promised them she would never be attending Juilliard, and yet she still danced, practically inviting them to grant her admission regardless. From a seat at the back of the auditorium, Tom watched that day too. His grin quickly turned into a smile as her feet moved more quickly, only to slow her body and time down as she took a giant leap across the stage. When she finished her routine, she walked to the end of the stage and clasped her hands at her center before humbly taking a bow. He was sure if this wasn't built into her routine, and all the routines of little girls that dance ballet everywhere, she wouldn't have accepted the applause the room gave her that day. Even when he told her later that day, over and over again as he sheathed himself inside of her, pumping in and out, holding her back to press her body close, Sybil still would never believe the talent she was gifted with. As they fell asleep afterwards, it somehow made sense to Tom that she was ignorant to it. She was all the more brilliant and beautiful when she was unaware of the impact she had on her art and on him.

The circle of girls seemed to increase with several of the male students now joining them. Sybil put her earbuds in but failed to press play. For as mature as she wished to be in this moment, she couldn't help but to be the eighteen year old she was, eavesdropping on a conversation she was sure she wasn't ready to hear yet.

"She's quiet," one of the girls said.

It was soon followed with: "Too quiet. She could have at least come down for dinner."

"Maybe she was tired. The flight from London to here is long," a boy explained.

One of the other girls rolled her eyes. "I came from Texas and I'm doing fine. It's just rude."

"Oh, pipe up," the boy explained again. "First off, she's right there and can probably hear us. Second, who cares. She's here now. The competition is all over. I've seen her dance before and she's good. I read somewhere that she doesn't even want to be signed to a company."

"Then why is she here?"

"She wants to teach."

"Good," the girl from earlier added. "With those hips no company would sign her."

A loud noise echoed through the air, causing Sybil to jump as she realized her phone was ringing from its place in her lap. She awkwardly looked at the group of students and smiled, and they just stared, waiting for her to pick it up. The song that played was well known by all of them, and all too familiar to Sybil, as well. She chose it as Tom's ringtone only after he invited himself into her room one afternoon while she was listening to this particular ballet and stated quite simply that he liked this song. Just as Sybil was doing to the teens now, she smiled, but lacked the heart to tell him that the song was titled "The Death of Juliet"; it had been his ringtone on her phone ever since.

"Hello?" she asked, finally taking her eyes off the group that was just talking about her. It was easier, somehow, to smile to them than it was to smile for Tom, even over the phone. Even if she could force a similar emotion, he'd see right through it.

"Hey you."

She smirked, or tried. "Hi," she whispered out, wanting to cry more than anything. Some of the girls were still staring but soon, as Sybil's conversation with Tom became more involved, they all turned back into themselves to discuss others things, like where they were planning on getting lunch after this welcome meeting had ended. "I miss you," she managed, biting her lip.

Tom smiled. "Me too, love. How are you?"

Sybil sighed. "Fine. It's different…" she began, and Tom nodded, knowing that she wouldn't continue and that there were no words needed from his end, only an ear to listen, that would make all of this better.

"Listen, I know you have that meeting soon, and I just wanted to call instead of texting back to let you know that I'm almost all moved in and that I can't wait for you to come home for Christmas and see it."

"How were the movers?"

"Your dad called them off actually," Tom began to explain.

"Mary?" Sybil inquired.

Tom shook his head. "Well, she tried, but it was Max, actually." Tom exhaled. "So now your mam and dad are helping me bring boxes up."

This made Sybil smile; a true and honest smile. "No they're not."

"They are! Ask Mary! It's really quite the sight."

"Remind me to thank them later," Sybil stated plainly. And then: "I really wish I could have been there, you know."

"I know, love. But remember what I said. This may take time but it will all be worth it in the end. I'm sure you're already doing great."

Sybil looked to the group she wasn't included in and then to the clock on the wall. "Yeah…" she breathed out. "But listen, this is going to start so I have to go."

"Alright. Love you, pretty girl."

Sybil beamed. "Love you too, Tom."

She hung up the phone just in time for the presentation to start. Unlike typical orientations, or at least the one she imagined she would sit through at Cambridge, the teachers all introduced themselves, and the students sat up straight, clapping enthusiastically as they did so. There was new staff that even Sybil didn't recognize, but she was calmed down by the fact that she wasn't the only one.

Miss LoTempo, Juilliard's resident petite ballet teacher, and Dean of the School of Dance, explained the importance of a small class size and emphasized the familial structure of troupe, or the idea that while they were all students, they should work together and function as their own dance company. This included, of course, educating and learning from one another, while respecting the art, the process, and each other.

At the end of the meeting, they were all excused, and reminded about the importance of showing up to class, all classes, early, come Monday morning. Sybil smiled, and picked up her folder before beginning to ascend the stairs to leave the lecture hall. She was called back, however, by Miss LoTempo, who had called her name, rather loudly, causing not only Sybil to turn around, but for everyone else to stare.

She turned around, having to cut past a few of the boys who were trying to get up the stairs behind her. She smiled, or did her best to, and at the bottom step of the lecture hall, she asked: "Is everything alright?"

"Fine dear," Miss LoTempo stated flatly. "We just need your measurements."

"Oh," Sybil sighed, feeling relief and anxiety wash over her. She continued to walk down, and was then ushered out of the room by Alice, an assistant professor of ballet, who took her to the costume shop in the basement to have her measurements taken.

Sybil watched as a woman in her late-forties with pepper hair, dropped her measuring tape only to scribble numbers into a chart. Sybil's name was next to all the others, causing Sybil to wonder if she was being accommodated for, and why. She did her best to pay them no attention, despite her height and bust being a bit larger than everyone else's. Back in London she never had a partner to work with. After all, her school was mostly for girls, as most of the boys dropped out before reaching professional dance age. She had been lifted, once or twice, but only for those ballet auditions from when she was little, the same ones that offered her contracts she never signed onto. Then she thought to Tom, and all the times he held her weight as if it was nothing. The latter thought had Sybil smiling to herself as memories came flooding back, replacing the otherwise uneasy feeling in her stomach. Surely, Sybil thought, if this was a problem, Juilliard wouldn't have accepted her.

On the way out of the costume shop, Alice told Sybil that she and the other professors were all very excited to have her attending school this year. The two then joked, Alice more than Sybil, about how they were worried they had lost her when her acceptance was handed in two weeks late. "Miss LoTempo wanted to teach you a lesson," Alice explained. "But even she couldn't deny you had a gift. I think everyone's really excited to work with you."

"Oh," was all Sybil could manage.

On the way back into the lecture hall, a tall dancer nodded toward both Alice and Sybil. "Sybil Crawley," he said, with a smile that could make most girls blush.

Sybil was just perplexed, by his height mostly, and by the fact that he knew her name. "Hi," she said, her voice trailing off.

"Colin Burke," he said, sticking out his hand for Sybil to shake it. She did, rather uneasily. She hadn't asked for his name and she certainly did not wish to ask him how he was, or even better, to inquire as to how he knew who she was. "I'll see you around, I'm sure."

Alice continued to walk and Sybil followed. Alice shook her head and dismissed Colin with a small laugh. "Colin is a third year student. He was offered a contract at the Danish ballet last semester but didn't take it. Now we all fear he'll graduate without a contract due to his height." Then she added: "He likes you though. He wants you as his partner for the Spring recital, but of course you didn't hear that from me."

Sybil awkwardly let out a laugh. "Of course."

~!~

During the week, this routine of keeping to herself, continued. She would awake before everyone else, shower, and then head off to get a beverage, usually something with coffee, before heading to class at ten. She would stay in the dance studio on the eighteenth floor until well after the sun went down, leaving only to walk down the street to get a salad or a snack from the cafe down the block.

Today, Sybil sat in the studio alone, her feet already laced up into the pair of pointe shoes she had prepared on the night of arrival. Now, they were like a friend to her, not bruising her toenails or leaving her feet bleeding the way other pairs of shoes had done in the past. They were all the same brand and she wore them all the same, which, as it grew colder, meant over a pair of white stockings with leg warmers bunched from her knee to her ankle. These shoes were different though; finally the break she needed when life had otherwise been less than kind.

Sybil didn't wish to complain, and when her mother and father called, or when she talked to Mary, she lied and told them all what a great time she was having and the friends she was making. It was only when Tom called, usually late at night as she was getting into bed and he was just getting out, that she told the truth. She wasn't miserable, but she certainly wasn't making many friends. She had lunch with Colin Burke once or twice, but the two talked mostly about technique and his time at Juilliard. Sybil was always reading, always on the phone or on Skype, leaving little time for socializing. Like the barricade of boxes that were now unpacked and put away, her iPhone and her computer screen and the countless extra hours in the studio by herself acted as a wall, keeping her from creating bonds with the other students. She didn't want to appear elitist or closed off, but she knew no other way. Sybil simply believed that regardless of how she was, the world would see her the way they wanted to.

As Sybil sat across from the mirrored wall in the studio. She leant forward, feeling the slight pull in her legs, both spread out along the base of the barre, perpendicular to the rest of her, which was reaching forward. Slowly, as she sat up, she saw the cityscape appear on mirrors, and with it, the girl she was, smiling now at the other students in her class. They smiled back and sat near the barre with her, taking their shoes out of their bags to put them on. This was a routine they all had from the time they were children. Things like competition and politics had separated them all as dancers, but if you looked closely, it'd be clear that their more youthful spirits and the dancers they started off as were merely hidden beneath years of discipline and dedication.

Corey leaned into Sybil, tying the drawstring of his black capezio's before extending his legs out to admire his work. "I heard you had lunch with Colin again," he teased.

"It was brunch," Cassandra corrected. "Or smoothies? Was it smoothies this time? Sybil got him to try one of those nasty green drinks she always has."

"It's juice," Sybil said, still avoiding their eyes completely. It was like this sometimes, with them talking at her, and not with her. They didn't really want her opinion, and yet, they didn't do it to be cruel. She was sure that if she gave them a reason to believe she wished to be a part of their games, they'd all have no problem inviting her in.

"Whatever," Nikki said, rolling her eyes. "He's a third year and will never have a job. Maybe he can model, though. He is quite delicious looking," she stated plainly before standing up to position herself at the barre. Cassandra and Corey just turned into one another to laugh before joining her.

Sybil's cellphone rang, causing her to slide her feet across the floor to take her out of the split she was resting in. She reached behind her to where her bag lay underneath the barre, against the window. The ringtone was one that they all knew well, after nearly two months of hearing it interrupt private hours in the studio, or quiet moments in the school's computer lab. "Hey," Sybil choked out.

"Hi beautiful," Tom managed, just happy to hear her voice. "Bad time?"

"I can give you five minutes," she teased.

Tom laughed. "I'll make it quick then. How are you, love?"

"Good," she nodded. Sybil pulled her legs up to her chest but then thought better of her position in the room, sitting between the other people in the room. Because of this, she stood, pacing now back and forth in front of the mirrors on the far wall.

"Sybil! Can you stand still?" Corey yelped. "I can't see my form if you keep cutting in and out of my reflection."

"Try harder," Sybil bit back at him, causing him to stick his tongue out at her. Out of all of the other students, Sybil got along with Corey the best. He was the first to always give her the benefit of the doubt, and after she had helped him on a composition paper due a few weeks back, he was much nicer to her, causing the two to develop a sibling-like bond.

"Sorry about that," Sybil whispered. "How are you? How's work?" she beamed,

Even though they were miles apart, Tom smiled back. "Good. Really good. It's just…" Tom sighed. "It's great, really."

"What are you working on, Mr. Branson? Am I allowed to know?"

Tom chuckled. "I suppose you have spousal privilege," he said, causing Sybil to blush.

"Spousal privilege? What, forget the story, let's talk about that," Sybil teased. The two thought about it briefly, paying no attention to the silence they were allowing over the line. It was odd even to them, how casually they talked about the future. Perhaps because they had always talked about the future, and even when they were nothing more than a secret, they both believed every word they mapped out together.

"Oh," Tom said, almost as if he was remembering. "So I went to Downton for dinner on Sunday. Mary and Matthew picked me up and I drove with them instead of taking the train in. Max and I got yelled at for running in the halls."

Sybil stiffled a laugh behind her hand where the edge of her big sweater was cupped in her palm. "By who?"

"Carson," Tom stated. "He hates me. I'm telling you, Syb. He knew. He has always known. And he despises me for it."

"Well Carson is always very kind to me," Sybil retorted. She pumped out her chest and pressed a hand to her neck. "Behind Mary, I'm his favorite."

"Well that's reassuring," Tom deadpanned.

"And he doesn't hate you. He had no idea, trust me! If he had he would have told my dad."

"Well still. I'm eighteen. And we weren't running. He didn't need to yell at me like I'm a child."

Sybil laughed again, this time she was unable to suppress the volume and force behind it. "Do you want me to talk to him? Do you need a band-aid for your boo boo?" she teased, practically hearing him smiling through the receiver. "Tom Branson, who cares what Carson thinks!"

Tom sighed. "You're saucy. New York has ruined you," he said, doing his best to keep a straight face.

"I'll show you ruined."

"Is that a promise?"

Behind Sybil, the door to the studio opened, inviting Alice and Miss LoTempo inside. Immediately the air in the room changed, prompting Sybil to stand up straighter and remember where she was. "Listen love, I have to go, alright?"

Tom sighed. "Yeah."

"Tom?"

"Yeah, love?"

"Yes, that's a promise, okay? I'm sorry, it's just, class is about to start and—"

"Hey, I love you. I'll call you later, okay?"

Sybil nodded. "Love you back."

She hung up her phone and scurried to her bag to put it away. Immediately her hand was on the barre while the other extended in front of her to third position. As soon as she fell in time with the other students, they all moved together, with no words being exchanged to know that after they finished their plies, they'd move onto grand plies, and then simple tendus to stretch and prepare before turnouts. When they got to their frappes, despite their best efforts, the rest of the students tried to sneak a look at Sybil and the way her body moved so quickly while still maintaining a strong central focus at the barre. She stood taller than the rest of them, those this was usually an issue even without her shoes on. While they exchanged looks between one another, she did a quick, but fluid, battement demi rond tendu.

At the end of warmups the girls and Corey settled into first position, awaiting further instructions. The class was Composition, a word that was loosely translated by Miss LoTempo, allowing her to teach whatever it was that moved her that day.

"Why do we dance?" she asked. Alice stood behind her, also in first position, with her feet turned out. The room was silent so she repeated her question: "Sybil, why do we dance?"

"I—"

"Or rather," Miss LoTempo said, cutting Sybil off. "Why do you dance?"

Sybil had a million answers, but as she sifted through all of them to find the best one, the weight in her feet was apparent, and she began to slouch, causing her hand to slip off the barre. "I don't know."

"You don't know? Nikki do you have an answer?" Silence. "Cassandra?" More silence. "Corey?" Miss LoTempo exhaled. "Clearly I called on Sybil knowing that the answer she would have to give me would not be much different than the one the rest of you have, and I was correct," she chuckled. "You four may be our best dancers. I have no doubt that some of you will be signed before the year is out. But Alice and I worry that we are teaching robots. You all, I am sure, began to dance because it is what your parents wanted. Maybe you fell in love with it, or at the very least, wanted to. Maybe you used to love it, and you no longer do, and you want that back because you can't differentiate between things you are good at and things you are meant to do with your life." She stopped pacing and stood in front of the students, all of them still looking straight ahead, with one hand on the barre, and both feet on the ground. "Composition songs are due next week. And by god, if I have someone pick Claire de Lune or anything of the like I am going to rip my hair out and then expel you." A beat and then: "All of you."

Still at the barre, all four students laughed. "I had a student do it once," Miss LoTempo explained. "You all realize this is your chance to pick a song YOU want to choreograph, right? You have all the time in the world after you are contracted out to listen to songs composed by dead white men. And you will. And you will dance to them and do a phenomenal job, I am sure. But until then," she said, "I do not want to hear that garbage, especially coming from a group of students that cannot tell me why they dance. Ballet is only slow and boring if you let it be and this dance is your chance to prove to the faculty that you really want to be here. And to prove to yourselves that you know the reason why you were chosen in the first place."

She inhaled slowly, taking with her the breath each student was holding in. "Okay. Off you go. You may use the rest of this class time to go into one of the private rooms or to pick your song. But dear god, if your song is not picked, go down the back staircase toward the practice rooms anyway. I would hate to have to judge you for procrastinating."

Everyone dismissed themselves from the barre and then nodded at Miss LoTempo and Alice before heading for the door. "Sybil, can Alice and I talk to you please?"

Sybil hoisted her duffel bag onto her shoulder and nodded, stepping into her teachers only after the door had shut, signaling that it was just the three of them left in the room.

"Do you know why I asked you to stay?" Sybil shook her head. "I lied," she began. "I very much expected you to have an answer. Actually, I'm still astonished that you don't. Or didn't."

"I do, I just…" Sybil stopped herself. "That's a loaded question."

Miss LoTempo looked to Alice, then back to Sybil. "Why don't the other students like you?"

"I wouldn't say they don't like me."

"Okay, well why don't you have friends? Is that a more acceptable question?"

Sybil shrugged, but her posture remained strong. "I don't know. I have friends at home. I guess I've just always kept to myself."

"Do you want to be here, Sybil?"

"Yes, ma'am," she quickly said. Out of all of the questions she had been asked, that was the easiest to answer; of course she wanted to be here, and the longer she was here, she knew that beyond what she wanted, she needed this place as well.

"Good. Because you caused quite the uproar at admissions. Why would some English girl who has been getting contract offers since she was twelve want to come here? But some of us had heard that you wanted to teach, and after we read your personal statement that was all confirmed and goddammit we wanted you!"

Alice looked up. "You're better than me, you know."

Sybil stepped forward. Her smile was bright now as she reached out for Alice. "Oh, I don't—"

"No, you are," Miss LoTempo confirmed with arms crossed tightly over her chest. "Have your parents ever watched you dance, Sybil?"

"Yeah, they always come to my performances."

"But do they get it?" Alice asked.

Sybil bit her lip and looked to the floor. Miss LoTempo stepped forward again, causing the heel of her teaching shoes to click on the sprung floor. "Why do you dance, Sybil?"

Sybil finally looked up. She took a beat and then responded: "For me. For myself."

* * *

I graduate on Saturday and I'm a bit behind on writing with all of the packing I've been doing lately. I also went home for Mother's Day and the drive took away from writing time as well. I will try to post Monday, but I can't promise!

Anyway, thanks for reading! Reviews are greatly appreciated!

x. Elle


	20. Light On My Shoulder

**A/N: **Posting on a Tuesday? Whaaaaaattt? Yeah, I don't really know either. I just felt compelled, I suppose. That has kind of been my mood lately, so take it how you will. This could also mean I am done with the schedule completely. But again, who knows?

Enjoy and please, review!

**Note:** The song Sybil is using for her midterm is the song quoted below.

* * *

"It's easier to fall and harder to stand  
It's easier to cry and harder to laugh,  
And I don't know how, I don't know why  
But you're the light on my shoulder  
When I'm tired."  
_Light On My Shoulder_ - Susie Suh

* * *

Sybil had her good days and she had her bad days, but most of them were a mix of the two, ending with her showering before quite literally falling into bed out of exhaustion. She would call Tom on her dinner break every night, right as he was getting into bed. Sometimes they were cheeky, and other times chaste, but the conversation always ended on a rather quiet note, with the both of them telling one another how much they loved each other and how it wouldn't be too long before they'd be together again.

Sybil would hang up the phone slowly, as if to still hear him breathing on the other end, if only for a moment longer. She would ascend the steps, six of them, leading into the lobby of her dorm, before swiping her card, granting her access to one of the three elevator's behind the security desk. It was midterms week, and most of her classmates had gone out for a pint after rehearsal. Sybil found herself far too exhausted, and sad, to do anything other than sleep. In fact, if you asked her, she couldn't recall the last time she had eaten a full meal.

Last night in particular, had her and Tom on the phone for much longer than she would have ever planned. And if it were up to her, she thought after, she would have hurried him off and to bed, if only so she wouldn't imagine him the way she had, tucked into bed behind her, singing her promises that only she knew the words to.

"I can't," she remembered saying. Once, then several more times, not to emphasize her point, but to show just how exhausted she truly was. "I need you. I may even need Mama and Papa," she commented, chuckling as she swiped at her runny nose.

"A little bit longer," Tom promised. "You're doing so well, Syb. I know you are. And you're just being hard on yourself because that's how you've always been."

"No," she corrected, her voice strained as she continued to sob. "They're being hard on me. Especially so."

"And what if they are? Isn't that what you wanted? Criticism?"

"Shut up," she spat. "And I have no friends."

"You've never had friends. You never had any use for them when you were little and now that you need one, you don't know how—"

"They don't invite me places anymore," Sybil said, cutting Tom off.

Tom chuckled. "Yeah, because you always said you were too busy to go!"

"Well I'd go now!" Sybil defended.

Tom sighed. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "What can I do?" What could he do, really? His girlfriend was crying to him over the phone. She was an ocean apart, and many more hours behind where he was currently at. "Syb…" he began, if only to break into the silence.

And then the conversation turned into what it was always meant to: "I just miss you, Tom. God, I really fucking miss you."

Another sigh. "Me too, Syb. Me too."

He promised to stay on the phone with her until she fell asleep. It was quick, far quicker than he had imagined. Her breathing stilled and she gave in, just knowing that he was on the phone with her. She was far too tired to think about how she wished he was here, holding her close with a strong arm wrapped around her midsection and his other, perched on the pillow above her head. She didn't need to be protected, and Tom knew that. Sybil was never the girl he would save, and he knew that like that very same idea, this was something she had to do on her own.

Of course she'd never acknowledge that he treasured the moments when she'd hold him on the phone, in the end letting her go, only because he thought it was the right thing to do when she was so tired. If he was being honest, and it was difficult to do lately, he needed her far more than he ever would have thought. Tom knew that he would miss her, and he did, but there was an aching that was left in his chest when she waved goodbye to him at the security gate that day. It remained, and left Tom to go through the motions, counting down the days until she would be home. Until then, he visited Downton more often. Cora found him in the library, reading books that even she and Robert knew to be Sybil's favorites. One afternoon, Robert even brought Tom a beer and the two men sat rather quietly while Robert watched Tom tinker with his motor bike. They had little to say to one another. Robert did his best to ask Tom what he was working on, and Tom politely answered, but the conversation went no further than that. Even so, it was nice, Tom would admit, to have company.

Tom did love his job, and he was getting on rather well. Hunter was extremely accommodating, and he praised Tom for his dedication. What he didn't know was the reason Tom arrived early and stayed late was because he couldn't sleep. He buried himself in documents and constantly checked news feeds for angles of stories that had yet to be covered. He was good at what he did, and he always produced quality work, on time, and sometimes even early. He had even made friends with some of the guys from his office. After getting drinks with Matthew one night, Tom arranged for weekly pick-up games of football in the park. Matthew would bring Max, as Mary had school meetings on this night every week. After the game was over, Tom would tell Matthew to join his colleagues at a local bar while he and Max stayed behind to kick the ball around. It wasn't just because he promised Sybil that he would look after Max, either. While Sybil had once said that Max reminded her of Tom at a young age, Tom found himself thinking of Sybil when with Max and, for even a few moments where the ball was passed back and forth between them, Tom wasn't as melancholy as he had been. As the night sky set over London, casting the city in a bright orange light, Tom drove Max home, and they discussed school, Max's karate lessons, and comic book characters. Sometimes Max would ask about Sybil, and in the way that children often do, he was unable to see the way Tom's face faltered. But Tom wore a smile he had perfected, and accepted the direction the conversation was headed and when Max stated that he missed Sybil, Tom would look straight out onto the road and mutter back: "Me too."

His flat in London was perfect, but it reminded him of Sybil. He had picked it because he knew she would love it, and now, in her absence, it was a reminder he wished he could go without. The bed that she had helped him pick out was far too large for him alone. In a way, he missed the standard full size mattress he slept on at Downton as a boy. Of course that mattress held its own memories, far less than Sybil's, but memories all the same. Even the thought of her sleeping somewhere else without him, had his head spinning. It was not enough to just hear her voice on the phone or to lose himself in his work. Tom needed Sybil, in a way that perhaps he always had. It was this thought, one he was only just beginning to grasp, that caused the ache in his heart to intensify, so much so that he just could not ignore it anymore. Tom was exhausted too, and tired of letting everyone else believe that Sybil was the weak one.

When Sybil awoke the next morning, her phone was pressed tightly into her stomach, leaving an imprint on her bare skin. She wiped at her face before looking at the alarm clock. She yelled a quick expletive before jumping out of bed and running to the bathroom to shower. Of course, everyone in her building was still asleep, if they even made it home last night. As Sybil lathered her hair, she thought of something Colin had said about Nikki, and she wondered if the girl would ever catch on. With the suds out of her hair and the water turned off, Sybil wrapped a towel around her body and smiled, knowing all too well that girls rarely see what is so clearly laid out in front of them. Sybil guessed it would be awhile before Nikki made up her mind on things like company contracts, boys, and the constant struggle between Bloch and Freed pointe shoes. The latter, Sybil had an answer for, and as Nikki went back and forth each week in composition, Sybil would lean in and whisper: "Blochs, definitely." Nikki would then roll her eyes, but the two girls would smile at one another, realizing that it was not just their preference in pointe shoes that they had in common. There were vulnerabilities and strengths that the two girls shared, ones that oddly enough worked to separate, instead of bind.

Sybil pulled on a pair of tights and a leotard. She grabbed a giant sweater and scarf from her closet and wrapped both around her body before grabbing her studio bag and hurrying out the door. She stopped briefly at the mirror in the hall to fix her hair. Her waves were drying to a frizz now, curling around her face. Like she had done so many times before though, Sybil tipped her head over and gathered her hair at the crown of her head. She began to twist, then coil the hair into a tight bun. With all of her flyaways smoothed down, she pushed in one bobby pin, then a few more, to secure the look in place. When she finally hit the street below, she silently thanked herself for remembering to generously spray the bun with hairspray.

Sybil filled up her water bottle and entered the studio. It would be hours before the sun rested above the building, and until then, Sybil thanked the East side of the building for shading her from its harsh rays. After taking her time stretching, Sybil slumped on the floor with a medicine ball, moving her bandaged toes along the rubber. She heard her toes crack, but ignored the sound, as she continued to bend her foot against the ball, allowing gravity to push and fight back.

It was slow, but Sybil brought herself to her feet to stand up. The studio was empty, and the clock on the wall behind her head ticked in the absence of sound. She stretched her arms and then began, her body bending and moving in time to the music she played in her head. She could have plugged her iPod into the stereo against the wall, but it was easier this way, if she were to mess up and start again. She would mess up, too, and it was on her own time that she would start again, humming a tune she was all too familiar with after weeks of listening to it in practice.

Sybil sighed, stretching her arms above her head again as she walked to the sound system to plug her iPod in. She pressed play with white noise resonating as she took her position in the center of the floor. There was a sharp inhale before Sybil began to move, doing her best not to think about all of the doubts she had about performing a piece that incorporated far more lyrical moves than she had ever experienced in a piece before. This was also the first piece she had choreographed completely on her own. The song too, was of her own choosing. Every split-jump lead up to a grand allegro, before her feet settled down and out, reminding her that she was just a girl, and that even ballerinas couldn't fly.

Her bun was surely coming out of its tangle, the mess she had created and wore well like a crown atop her head. She'd fix it, but only barely, after everyone else arrived and she was given a moment to catch her breath and remove a bobby pin, only to place it back in the very same place she had retrieved it from.

Everyone gathered on the wall opposite the barre and retrieved their shoes, mostly leather, mostly split-sole. All of the girls were dressed similarly to Sybil, in Lulu Lemon and expensive running shoes. They eyed Sybil and, after they retrieved their water bottles from their studio bags, sat down beside her. Their chatter continued but eventually died off as all twenty-four of the students realized that midterms were due on Monday and that this class was their last before a long weekend of brushing up based on the notes they received.

Miss LoTempo, Alice, and two other instructors entered the room and sat at the table near the windows, in front of the barre. They said nothing, but took out notepads and pens after setting their individual cups of coffee or tea down. Miss LoTempo had a rather strict policy about what could and could not be brought into the rehearsal space, with any non-clear liquid being immediately disqualified. These rules, however, did not apply to her or any of the faculty.

One by one, they were all called up. The list that Miss LoTempo read from was arbitrary, and Sybil knew what this meant, dreading that her name would come last, instead of second or third. A silence fell over the room and was only replaced as music played and the sound of canvas shoes hitting the dance floor was heard. When each performance was over, the silence settled in again until Miss LoTempo asked the classmates if they had any critiques. Sybil only gave a critique to Corey and hoped that this would count as her participation for the day. She was far too worried about her own dance to hold anyone else at fault.

When it was her turn, she stood up, and walked quietly to the stereo. She pressed play on her iPod, just as she had that morning. She took the same six steps across the floor to stand in front of the table of instructors. She braced herself, waiting for that first note to signal she could begin dancing. It was permission she was granted, with her body giving into the movements she had practiced so many times. Only when the first chorus hit did she finally go from demi pointe, to en pointe. It was then that her body picked up momentum, spinning and bending as the song continued. She thought of control and how it was essential that she keep her toes pointed and her core tight with every turnout. When the song finished, she sighed, almost wishing she had more time to prove to the room, and herself, that there were more steps to do. It didn't matter how many times Sybil had choreographed a piece; lately they all felt hasty and incomplete.

The quiet they all had been taught to accept settled in. Sybil swore it lasted a bit longer than usual, but her thoughts were interrupted by Alice speaking up. "Who has a critique for Sybil? Corey?"

Corey looked up. "I thought it was good," he confirmed. "Really good, actually. I liked the song…"

"Anyone?" Alice scoured the room. All students were staring at the panel of instructors with blank stares painted across their faces. They said nothing, just looked straight ahead.

"I have a critique," Miss LoTempo said, raising her hand but knowing such an action was futile, as she'd be granted permission to speak regardless. "It was emotionless. Your form," she began, her voice changing pitch, "was stunning. But I don't buy a word of it."

"Okay," Sybil nodded. Her hands were still clasped down in front of her, and she stood with her feet tightly in third position.

"Okay?" Miss LoTempo asked, her eyes widening. "Okay, my ass, Sybil!" She stood up. "Circle up!"

Immediately they all moved, scared by the sudden noise in the room and the tension Sybil had created. "Let's go around the circle now. What story is your piece telling?"

They all began, creating words instead of movement, discussing the songs they chose and why they chose them. Corey talked about dreams, Nikki about not being good enough, and Cassandra and a few of the other students discussed growing up.

"It's about love," Sybil said. She looked up for the first time since they had gotten into their circle. "And trust," she added.

"That's it? What kind of love?" Miss LoTempo inquired.

"It's like…" Sybil sighed. "It's a thank you, I guess. For someone that's always there for you. They make you better and you know you're the person you are because of who they are and who they allow you to be. And you don't know what you'd do without them."

"Are you speaking from personal experience?"

Sybil nodded. "I suppose so." But then, as Miss LoTempo's eyes narrowed, Sybil continued. "Yes, absolutely. All of it."

As Sybil felt all of her classmates, and even her instructors staring at her, she realized she didn't talk about Tom, she only talked to him around them. Of course they had seen the pictures on her walls, and on her phone. They knew his ringtone and the smile Sybil wore when she answered the phone and walked away, taking his voice with her. They assumed he was her boyfriend, but not once had the words ever fell from her own lips. It wasn't their place to inquire. Like Sybil's morning routine, she was quiet, and self-contained. Her words and her thoughts and the relationship she had with Tom, and even her parents, was never heard or seen. It was all shown in her dance, but like most things ballet had taught her, just as often as she discovered things about herself, she was able to lose bits of herself, and them too, the faster her body twirled.

"What?"

Sybil's shoulder slumped. She felt heat in the form of tears pooling behind her eyes. She blinked, but only once, out of fear for the tears falling and revealing all to the room. She willed herself not to cry, chanting internally to keep it all together and just breathe. "Is this necessary?"

"I believe it is. You see, Sybil, how can you expect an audience to believe the story you're telling when you can't do the same?" The same silence from before crept in. Sybil's classmates didn't stare anymore but she still felt nervous. With one last exhale, she steadied her breathing, and fought back another well of tears. Her face was red, she was sure, but she took comfort in the control she had, mimicking that of the movements she performed just moments ago. "Alright," Miss LoTempo finally said, breaking through the quiet. "Eight o'clock sharp. Monday. Midterm performances."

Suddenly, as if they were the ones being ridiculed, everyone stood up, running for their bags to begin packing up. Amidst it all, Sybil was left still sitting, with her legs pulled close into her body and her head resting on her knee. She blinked back a few more tears before finally standing. She stood still for just long enough to see all of the instructors pick up their things and head for the door. The room they left behind was one of chaos, even as shoes and jackets were picked up from the floor and tucked away in studio bags.

"Sybil," Nikki began, rather hesitantly. Now the entire room of students was staring at her, their eyes darting back and forth between the two girls. "We were going to grab some lunch, did you want to come?"

Sybil forced a smile, but her shoulders relaxed. "Sure. Thanks," she said, walking to her bag to begin packing up.

For once as they left the rehearsal space, Sybil was not trailing behind the pack of her classmates, typing away at her phone. Normally she would have received a text from Tom, but she had yet to hear from him this morning. When she called him on her way to class, his phone went straight to voicemail. Still, she accepted this new place, and was content that finally, she had received an invitation to lunch. Her father, if anything, had taught her that networking was important, and that sometimes, the best laid plans come out of working with those you would prefer not to be involved with. All of that aside though, there was a comfort here, as they all walked down the staircase and out the front door of the building. Corey made a comment on something the art students were showcasing and all the teens laughed, as friends, and not dancers.

Sybil felt a vibration from within her bag and she stopped, leaving the group to continue walking as she stood still, digging through her satchel. She found the offending item and answered it, a smile appearing across her features as she saw the ridiculous picture of her and Tom flash across the screen. "Hey!"

"How did it go?" Tom immediately asked.

Up ahead, the group of students stopped, staring at Sybil as they watched her plug one ear and hold her phone to the other. She smiled at them, hoping they'd understand and it seemed they had as they all turned into one another to continue chatting as they patiently waited for her to finish her call.

"It was a nightmare. Miss LoTempo completely tore me apart. She thinks I'm an awful dancer," Sybil lamented. "But!" her voice peaked. "They invited me out to lunch! See!" Sybil exclaimed. "I'm not a total louse."

Tom chuckled. "Well that's a shame."

"What?"

"I was going to see if you wanted to get lunch with me."

Sybil's heart fell and her eyes widened. She side stepped and then turned around, giving herself time to take this all in. "What?" she asked again.

"I was thinking McSorley's."

"Tom Branson, that's not funny."

Another chuckle but then his voice softened and she knew he was serious. "I know it's not."

"Tom…" Sybil said, her voice sounding much like a warning. Again, she spun, the old ratty sneakers on her feet pacing against the pavement. "Are you—"

Her thought was cut off as she felt him, all of him, settle into her. Suddenly he was there, and the tears that she was fighting back from earlier were cascading down her face as she kissed at his nose, then his cheeks, and then his lips. He gave in, not caring that they were in the middle of a crowded city street, or that up ahead, her classmates stood waiting for her, now gawking at this very intimate moment on display for all of Uptown to see.

Sybil's hands were cold on Tom's cheeks and his own rested softly upon her hips. It was a moment they needed like they never knew they could need one another before. Their kisses were hungry, but satisfying, and she rested her hands flat against the soft material of his sweater and dropped her forehead down to his chest to hide her embarrassment. "Hi," she whispered, hiding a bright smile underneath a series of nervous laughs. "I—"

He kissed her again, this time cupping her head in his hands the way she had done to him just seconds ago. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I missed you."

Sybil laughed again. "Me too." She sighed and then followed Tom's eyes over her shoulder to where the group was still stealing glances. "Do you want to come?"

Tom shook his head. "Absolutely not. You go," he offered. "I'll grab a bite to eat and then nap. You can meet me back at the hotel. You're done with class for the day, right?"

Sybil nodded. "I am." She turned around and ran up ahead to where the group was waiting for her. Tom watched them all exchange words, some falling from Sybil's mouth that prompted them all to look over her shoulder to where Tom stood. Awkwardly, he waved, leaving his hand still in the air as they all turned back into themselves and continued to talk.

A boy pressed a hand to Sybil's shoulder and they all smiled before walking away, leaving Sybil to run back to Tom. "Okay, let's go!"

"Syb," Tom protested. "I said you should go."

Sybil nodded before latching onto Tom's upper arm, urging them both to begin walking downtown. "And my boyfriend is here to visit, so I say we go get lunch."

Tom could only smile. As they continued to walk, he placed subtle kisses to her forehead. On the subway, he brought their intertwined hands up to his lips and placed a small kiss to each of her knuckles. She smiled, and leaned further into him, as she asked him about the red eye flight he must have taken out of London. They were both so elated, Sybil didn't bother arguing with Tom when he lied and told her he had already taken this time off from work months ago. She knew just as well as he did, that none of this was planned. If they had learned anything this summer, it was that the heart rarely made calculated decisions.

* * *

I know a lot of you really wanted to see what Tom's life was like in London, and originally I had thought about devoting an entire chapter to it, but it really upset the flow of Sybil at Juilliard. Also, I knew this was coming, so I figured it would suffice. I do know that in the future, we'll get more of a look at how Tom's doing without Sybil.

Thanks for reading!

x. Elle


	21. Clarity

**A/N:** Holy reviews, batman! Apparently there are more of you reading this story than I thought, and I just wanted to stop for a minute and thank everyone - those who read, and especially those of you who review - for your support. Those of you who do review know that I say 'thank you' over and over again, and I'm sure it gets a bit annoying, but I do mean it. I can't tell you how much it means to me that this idea I have had for a long time now, and finally had the time to write for my own sanity, is enjoyable to others. I will never be able to get over it. And 300 reviews? We're not even halfway through this story! That is incredible and again: THANK YOU!

That being said, I was going to post this earlier as a sign of gratitude, but I was waiting for a few people to read before I did so. Also, I am going to Southampton for the weekend and will be away from my computer (if the rain holds out) until Monday night. I didn't want to post this too early because with my beta also out of town, it would have left a huge gap between this and the next chapter.

Anyway. That Author's Note was way too long. Excuse my verbosity. Enjoy!

* * *

"'Cause you are the piece of me I wish I didn't need  
Chasing relentlessly, still fight and I don't know why  
If our love is tragedy, why are you my remedy?  
If our love's insanity, why are you my clarity?"  
_Clarity_ - Sam Tsui

* * *

Tom rented a room at the Gramercy Park Hotel because he knew it was Sybil's favorite. When he called, he was almost sure they would be all booked, but easily, they fit him into a room that Sybil once called home, causing him to no longer worry about the time he was taking off from work or the reaction she would no doubt give him upon seeing him in New York.

When she and Tom used to visit Martha each summer before traveling to the Cape, the three would each get their own room, paid for by Sybil's late grandfather. With her getting older, Martha was never in the city anymore, but Sybil loved it here, and one night two or three summers ago, she nestled into Tom's naked chest and commented on how this neighborhood reminded her of the one her Aunt Rosamund resided in West London. Tom kissed her head that day and said that he agreed. If he remembered correctly, that was the same night before the morning when Martha had caught him leaving Sybil's room to return to his own. He had made up an excuse about Sybil having left a sweater in his room, and Martha smirked but nodded, ignoring Tom as he scurried back down the hall in nothing but flannel pajama pants. Looking back on it now, it was Tom who smirked. How ridiculous it must have seemed to Sybil's grandmother that the loss of a sweater be an immediate concern, especially for her flighty granddaughter.

After checking in, Sybil let Tom shower first, ignoring the words he chose in hopes of inviting her under the hot stream of water with him. They laughed and shared a simply dialogue though, as Sybil sat on the counter, her eyes tracing over the lines of Tom's body as he moved about behind the glass doors. Their conversation was consistent and unwavering, but didn't touch upon more than Tom's flight over, or Sybil's inquiry of the life she left behind at Downton.

When Tom got out of the shower, Sybil handed him a towel and did her best not to stare at the way his skin glistened, just begging to be touched. She swallowed, but ignored him, turning away to give him privacy. He chuckled, and in his naked state, wrapped the towel she gave him around his hips before silently leaving the bathroom. If anything, he was teasing just as much as she was. He was amused by her sudden shyness, as if the time they had spent apart had made her forget of the passion they shared, ignoring the spark that would no doubt always exist between them.

The room they shared now was decorated much like the rest in blood orange and blue, hot pink and green. Boisterous wallpaper painted the walls and accented the bathroom, all white and wet now, from the shower Sybil had just taken. She stood in the bathroom, combing through her wet hair. Staring at her reflection in the mirror, she noted the bags under her eyes and the way the bones of her hips jutted out just a little bit further than they usually did. Only under Tom's watchful gaze, though unchanging, did she realize how exhausted she looked, and how despite the smile she wore because of him, there was all too much she couldn't conceal.

"Syb?" Tom called out. He reached up to take off his glasses before leaning over and putting them and his laptop on the bedside table.

Sybil emerged from the bathroom in nothing but spanks and a sports bra. He stared, but smiled, doing his best not to gawk at her skin and the way her hair was already beginning to wave the more the cool air of the hotel room hit it. They had stopped at her dorm room before going downtown to the hotel. Tom was glad her suite was empty, using the time they were given to steal a few kisses before Sybil was left to pack an overnight bag. He watched her, amazed at her concentration as she unpacked her studio bag before beginning to throw clothes and toiletries haphazardly into a backpack. He had seen her throw in a large shirt he knew to be his own, and with it, a pair of pajama shorts. Of course she wore neither as she revealed herself to him, and he swallowed, wishing now that she had.

"Well, that's not fair," he deadpanned.

Sybil's shoulder's dropped. She scrunched her nose and then stepped further into the bedroom before kneeling up onto the bed to crawl toward Tom. He couldn't take his eyes off her, and they only closed when she reached up to kiss his lips and taste him. "What are you working on?"

Tom looked to his laptop. "An article due next week. I wish I could get it out sooner but we're still waiting on some documents to surface."

"Sounds top secret," Sybil joked.

Tom smirked. "Very top secret. As in, the government and most people know about it, but nobody else wants to cover the story," he deadpanned.

Sybil rolled her eyes. The answer he gave was so characteristically Tom and she couldn't help but agree. "Spoken like a true journalist." Again, they shared a kiss. It deepened and Sybil found herself drawn to Tom, moving up to him, wrapping her arms lazily around his neck before straddling his lap. Immediately, she felt him harden beneath her, and she smiled, loving the control she regained so quickly now that they were reunited. In response, she moved against him, mimicking an action they both wanted and needed, but swore off, swearing it would be for the best.

Tom was not so sure, but he smiled all the same, having no other option when she was moving in the way she did. He'd play this game with her, because he knew that despite it all, it gave him exactly what they were both craving.

Sybil dropped her lips to his neck, pressing light kisses to his pulsepoint before returning upward to seize his mouth. "You know," she began before kissing him once more, "we talked about control today in class."

Tom nodded and Sybil continued. "I've been working on it," she whispered before pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth. "It's hard though...so hard, Tom."

"Really not fair," he commented. He needed to distract his lips but his eyes had other plans, staring at her mouth, agape with words she would never say. She wanted to tease, but not that harshly, and she could tell he was getting frustrated and that was the last thing she wanted. Even when they were intimate, her body would mock him, though it had been awhile since it affected him like this. The last time, she recalled, was when they were still a secret, and the stress he held was over the way her hands spoke things her mouth was unable to.

"I love you," Sybil offered. They shared a chaste kiss. She went to move off of him, but he stopped her, seeing that she just wanted to be close to him, and that this was no longer about the past. He saw the guilt in her eyes and made it disappear in the only way he knew how; by placing a kiss to her forehead. Sybil smiled and then settled into Tom, dropping her head to his bare chest. "I'm sorry," she said before offering him another "I love you."

Tom smiled. "You're not playing fair," he commented. "But I love you too."

Silence settled over them with Sybil listening intently to the way Tom's heart beneath from deep within his chest. He pushed her hair back and kissed the top of her head, just enjoying the way her body was close to his for the first time in almost two months. "It's okay, you know," Sybil said, cutting through the quiet.

Tom looked down, questioning what she had just said as his eyes narrowed. Sybil picked up her head and caught her eyes on his own. "To miss me. To need this. To be vulnerable," she explained. "It doesn't just have to be me, you know."

Tom sighed. "I do miss you, Syb. Every day." He sighed. "Every fucking day."

"Show me."

Tom shook his head. He knew what she meant. This was no longer about intimacy or time spent apart. This was the truth they had worked so hard to reveal, now hiding, showing them to be just as scared as they always had been. "I call you more than you call me," he said softly. "I know you have class and—"

"I'm tired of crying," Sybil explained, cutting him off. "I play over the conversations we'll have in my head when I want to call you and tell you about something that happened. But I hear you say hello and I just lose it. I breakdown before I even get up the courage to dial the phone."

Tom's eyes narrowed. He wanted to carry this sadness for her, but instead, found his own hidden deep within his chest, failing to subside. He reached up to stroke her cheek. Sybil closed her eyes, reveling in the way his hands, so large and rough, held her. She didn't dare cry; it was no use now with him so close. Still, she was sure that if she had, he'd be quick to wipe away her tears.

"And then you call and we have these great conversations, but I hang up and feel so alone. I hate to welcome that."

"I don't have to call," Tom offered. "If it hurts, I don't—"

"Yes, you do." Sybil affirmed, rather harshly. "I need you, alright? And I'm not afraid to admit that anymore. I need you and I want you and this sucks."

"Yeah," Tom breathed out. "It does." Sybil waited for an answer, but heard nothing but silence. She sighed, and went to settle back into Tom, only to keep her head up as he finally spoke. "I can't say it enough," he said. "I guess I need you more than I thought I would. I thought, you know, that I would be the strong one. I've always been that person for you, and when you call me so stressed and alone, I know that I need to be there for you. It's not until I hang up that I realize I've forgotten to tell you how much this is all affecting me."

Sybil's eyes were wide now, and her smirk was complacent. This was everything she had been waiting to hear, words hidden even as he proclaimed his love and adoration for her every day before ending their long distance calls.

"I don't sleep," he started again. "I just stay awake thinking of what you're doing, and hoping you're okay. And when I'm not...okay," he elaborated, "I want to call and I want to text you, but I also don't ever want you to feel as dependent on me as I feel on you. Because you're right," Tom said, his voice brightening. "It does suck. It really fucking sucks."

Sybil smiled before resting her head back on his chest. She no longer had to see him to know what he was feeling. It was all over, radiating throughout the room in the way his hands held her back, keeping her close. "Why is that so bad? My parents and Mary and Matthew and Hunter don't have to know, Tom. But I do. I deserve that, don't you think? And why can't we be honest with each other? Why is it so hard to tell me you're hurting? It doesn't make me love you any less. In fact, I love you more. No matter what," she said, practically making a promise. "I will always love you. Even when you think you're weak. But you're not, okay? You're strong and I know you do it for me. I know you think it's the right thing to do, but sometimes I'd just prefer you tell me how lonely you are or how this is hard for you to deal with because I feel the same exact way and I'm sick of being the only one," Sybil exhaled. "I thought you were getting tired of me. You sound so helpless on the phone and I hate that I breakdown and you aren't here to help. But you can breakdown with me. We talked about this. You're my boyfriend and I want to help. We promised we'd get through this and we will. Together," she finally added.

Tom kept his lips sealed, but he smiled before pressing a kiss to her waiting lips. It was all the confirmation he could give without submitting to the burning in his chest. He was amazed at its appearance when he had originally planned this trip to alleviate it. "I never wanted you to feel alone. I didn't want to add to that," he said.

"You didn't. But I don't need you to be strong for me, Tom," Sybil said, looking up at him. She reached up to smooth back his hairline. "If this is hard, let us face is together. I can't tell you how comforting it is to know that you're hating this just as much as I am."

"Well, I hate it then. I hate that you're here and I'm back in London. I hate that I have to go to Max's football games by myself and that I do the drive to Sunday dinner by myself. I hate that I get up early on Sunday's to go to mass just because I have nothing better to do. I hate that you're having a really hard time and I can't do anything about it—"

Sybil reached up and placed a single finger against Tom's lips. His lips stilled as she moved it. "You can do something. You're doing everything, just like you always have, alright? You're here now and even when you're not, just talking to you and knowing that you're cheering me on is help enough. You're still my best friend, you know," she pointed out.

"What?"

"Even though I tell you 'I love you' and mean it in a different way now. Even though we make love…" Her voice cracked. "You're still my best friend. That didn't stop because we told everyone how we felt. And I need you, that part of you, the kid I fell in love with when I was five, to be there for me. If you do that for me, I can be there for you too."

Tom reached down to cup Sybil's cheeks. She gave in and reached up again, crawling toward him again so that the two could embrace. It was more chaste this time, lacking the urgency of their earlier actions. Everything was aired out, leaving them both to feel lighter, but more vulnerable and yet somehow, more open.

When they broke apart, Sybil settled into Tom's side, hugging him as her head snuggled into the crook of his neck where she placed several more kisses. Tom did the same thing to the crown of her head until Sybil broke apart and leaned over him to grab something from the nightstand. When she sat back on the bed, she opened the menu she had grabbed and began scanning the folded parchment paper for lunch. "We can go to McSorley's tomorrow," Sybil commented. "I want to stay in bed and eat food."

Tom snatched the menu away from Sybil, causing her mouth to drop. He chuckled and grabbed his glasses from the nightstand. "What do you want?"

"Everything!" she exclaimed. "All of the food! I will literally eat anything."

Tom's eyes scanned down Sybil's body, from the lines that were subtle on her abdomen to her legs where already defined muscles were somehow becoming more prominent. He returned his glance to the menu and spoke: "You look thin," he stated casually.

Sybil crossed her arms. "I'm fine."

It was then that Tom looked to Sybil. He said nothing but his eyes and facial expression asked for a real answer. "Syb…"

"They all judge me! I ordered chinese the other day after talking to Max on the phone and one of them asked me if I was having company. She didn't think I could eat all of the food I ordered."

Tom laughed out loud. "They clearly don't know you." He sighed. "Who cares what they think?"

"It's just exhausting. It's easier to get a salad or fruit than to deal with them gawking."

"A salad?" Tom inquired. "Well, that's a first. I don't think I've ever seen you eat a salad as your entire meal."

"I know. You should see how much dressing I put on it."

Tom laughed again. "I'm sure. Here," he said, handing her the menu. "Let's get the greasiest food on the menu. And a bunch of desserts."

Sybil beamed. Again, her eyes scanned the menu, looking at all of the available room service appetizers and sweets. When she finally called, her and Tom settled on several of them, earning them a bill of almost three hundred dollars and several plates of leftovers. When the food arrived, Tom left Sybil on the bed. He quickly put on a shirt and headed for the door. When the room service attendant began to wheel the cart in, Tom stopped him, handed him a tip, and performed the job himself. With his foot, he shut the door behind him and continued to push all of the food into the bedroom.

He couldn't help but to laugh as he watched Sybil's eyes widen, and her mouth spread into a smile at seeing all of the food laid out before them. They sat on the bed, using the expensive down comforter as their own personal picnic area. Sybil fed Tom chocolate covered fruit, before returning to their childlike ways in which she threw disposed strawberry and cherry stems at his face. In retaliation, he tackled her against the bed, rubbing cheesecake on her cheek before licking it off, then trailing his way south, leaving hot open mouthed kisses in his wake.

Somehow though, they returned, sitting upright with legs crossed over one another to shelf their full plates. "You lied to me," Sybil said simply after swallowing at the pastry she was currently enjoying with butter and jam.

"What?" Tom asked, before placing his coffee back down on the cart at the foot of the bed.

"I know this was a spur of the moment thing."

"Oh."

"What did you tell Hunter?"

"I told him I wanted to use some of my overtime to come see you."

"Just like that?" Sybil asked, clearly surprised.

Tom nodded. "Just like that," he confirmed. "I think he gets it. I don't have to say much or do much for him to know that I miss you."

"But he's not mad."

Tom smirked. "No, Syb, he's not mad. It was my time to spend. And I can still write while I'm here."

Sybil's eyes dropped. "Should I be giving you time for that?"

Another chuckle from Tom. "No, love. I wrote a lot on the plane. And I told you, I'm still waiting on those documents." He paused before continuing; it was his turn to doubt this weekend. "Should I be giving you time to rehearse? Don't you have midterms on Monday?"

"I do," Sybil confirmed with a nod. "But I don't think what I need to work on can be rehearsed."

Tom shot her a confused look, wondering what it was this time that she had been critiqued for. She had told him all about the various comments made by Miss LoTempo, and even Alice, who Sybil always seemed to speak so highly of. He would never tell her this, but he knew that she needed this type of criticism, and that they were only particularly harsh with her because they expected the most out of her compared to the rest of her classmates, who they also held to an unbelievably high standard. Not once did she ever tell Tom she was given the same piece of advice, meaning that after each sentiment was received, she committed it to memory before working it to perfection. In a way he understood though; it was more than just pointing her toes or keeping her back straight. She was beyond a place in her dancing life where things like her hair and the practice clothing she wore could be commented on. It was much more about who Sybil was as a dancer, which to Tom, meant so much more than how she moved across a stage in light.

~!~

The next morning, Sybil and Tom woke up in a state of undress. Their night ended rather passionately, but stopped when it needed to, so that they both could keep their vow. Just as they had done the previous night, they took a shower, this time together. All remained chaste, however, as Sybil's words of friendship rang in their ears, giving Sybil ample time to shampoo her hair while Tom washed his body. Of course they held one another and kissed beneath the warm shower stream, but it went no further than that. At this point, their vow was a challenge, one that ignited the competitive spirit in both of them.

Tom was leaving tonight to be able to fly back to London with plenty of time to get to work on Monday morning. It would also give Sybil a bit of time to herself to rehearse her midterm performance. Until then, he had asked her to show him around, to involve him in her usual routine now that she was a student in New York.

Unlike the museums and art galleries they would visit with her grandmother, Sybil brought Tom to her favorite coffee shop uptown, and then the two of them doubled back toward the hotel to walk the High Line. At the cafe, Sybil ordered herself a tea, no longer needing the taste of espresso when Tom was by her side. Even so, as she sipped at the hot liquid, she found herself missing the taste of milk made bitter by caffeine.

The day was truly gorgeous, and rather mild for late October. Lately, the cold had reminded Sybil of the upcoming Thanksgiving Break, and how she would be in the city by herself, dreading the lack of celebration for a holiday she was not accustomed to. Already, she had a nap and a bubble bath planned for herself. Her father and mother had offered to fly her to London for the weekend, but now, with Tom so close, she saw that was not necessary. Even as they talked and laughed, they both felt a weight resting upon them, reminding them that soon they'd be separated again, and they'd have to start all over again to build a tolerance against the loneliness.

"Wait," Sybil said, cutting Tom off. The two were lost in a conversation about the Civil War in Syria, and the overall state of human rights in the world. In particular, Sybil had just commented on the role of women in the conflict, and how their energy should be used to wage peace.

Tom watched as Sybil ran ahead, tapping the shoulder of a boy in front of them. He stopped and took his earbuds out of his ears when he saw her. She pointed to Tom, and the boy waved, prompting Tom to approach.

Sybil placed a hand to Tom's shoulder and beamed. "Tom, this is Colin, and Colin, this is my boyfriend, Tom."

"Nice to meet you," Tom commented, shaking Colin's hand.

Colin smiled back. "You too, man."

"Excuse my ignorance but Colin is…?"

"A junior at Juilliard. Sorry!" she said with a laugh.

Colin looked to Tom. "Sybil's quite the dancer."

"Well, I'm certainly proud of her."

"You should be. She's going to get the lead for the showcase, I know it."

Tom looked to Sybil. "You think?"

Sybil shrugged. "We'll see." She turned to Colin. "What are you doing down here?"

"I take a class at NYU once a week," Colin replied. "Didn't I tell you that?"

"No," Sybil laughed. "In what?"

"Business. It's a basic class. I took one similar to it last semester too. Gotta have a back up plan if everyone thinks you'll never get signed again."

Sybil scrunched her nose. "Don't talk like that. It will happen!"

Colin smiled. "Thanks. But I'll let you guys go. Are you coming to bar crawl after midterms end?"

Sybil shrugged. "I doubt it. But I'll let you know."

"Do you still want to do dinner after the department meeting on Wednesday?"

Sybil nodded. "That sounds great. Text me and we can set something up."

"Great!" Colin turned back to Tom. "Hey, nice meeting you, Tom. I'm sure I'll see you soon. At the showcase at the end of the year, I'm guessing?"

"I'll be there."

"Great. See you around, Sybil."

Sybil and Tom both waved as Colin walked off in the direction he was originally headed. Tom and Sybil followed suit, with Sybil reaching down to grab Tom's hand to hold in her own.

"Is he gay?"

Sybil giggled. "No! Not all male ballet dancers are gay, you know." Tom welcomed the silence that existed between them, but Sybil was not so sure. "What are you getting at?"

"Nothing," Tom commented. When Sybil flashed him a suspicious look, he smirked. "Nothing!" he offered once more.

"Well, he's not. And he's just a friend...if you can even call him that. We get lunch and coffee and juice sometimes. But we really only talk about dance."

"Okay."

Sybil smirked. "Okay."

She nestled into him and kissed his cheek as they continued to walk. "Oh!" Tom stopped before beginning to walk again. "Mary wanted me to remind you that you have fittings for Edith's wedding when you get home."

Sybil made a face and looked away. She had only talked to Edith once since she left for school, and it was nearly a month ago, when Edith called her baby sister to share the news of her engagement. Sybil remembered how Edith went on and on about the proposal, all the while swearing that the wedding would be casual, and that she was just doing all of this to appease Anthony's mother. Robert and Cora had long ago given up on their middle daughter marrying, accepting it, because they knew she did not want children. Now, Sybil was sure they were all too pleased, but she found herself wondering why Anthony Strallan was acceptable for Edith, but Tom Branson, who her parents had practically raised, was quickly disapproved of.

"Crap," Sybil muttered, wishing to no longer think of what she had left behind at Downton, but instead of what Tom had just said, here in New York. If she was alone, or rather, not attached to Tom in the way that she was, she would have crossed her arms over her chest and begin to pout. She could only imagine the gown her sister would put her in. But she smiled, thinking how Mary, just as she had been lately, would be there to fight her corner. If Sybil loathed the frock, there was no doubt that Mary would also detest it, maybe even going as far to refuse to wear it despite acknowledging that this day was not about her.

"You're going, right?"

Tom chuckled. "Yeah, I am. I have to."

"Well, I mean, you could politely bow out. I wouldn't mind. I know how you feel about weddings."

"And it's the same way you feel about weddings," Tom commented with another laugh. "But I'll go for Edith. This is her day and she seems really happy about it. I know she always said it wasn't important to her, but I think she was just waiting for it."

Sybil smiled, loving how well Tom knew her family. It was his family too, though he'd never admit that. "You're a good man, Tom Branson."

"Oh am I?" He laughed and kissed her forehead. "Plus, I don't have a choice," he said, pulling away. "Edith wants Matthew and I to be groomsmen with Anthony's sons."

"Oh really? So you really have no choice on whether you go."

"Pretty much."

It carried on like this, with them finally going to McSorley's before they headed back to Gramercy to grab their things and check out. Silently, a private car took them to the airport, where Sybil watched Tom remove his luggage from the trunk, then take her hand to lead them both inside.

At the security gate, Sybil kissed Tom and walked away quickly, just as she told him she would. It was only after she was in the cab heading back into the city that she sent him a text, telling him how much she loved him and how she appreciated the time they spent together, no matter how short. In her head she calculated how many days were left until she'd see him again, and hastily, she added that thought too.

~!~

Sybil sat on the floor on the dance studio, tying her shoe ribbons up her legs, crossing the fabric over itself to create tension she had learned to long ago ignore. She was dressed similarly to the other girls, in variations of tights and leotards. Sybil's tights, pink, and the leotard and skirt she wore, black. It was all very simple, and though she had lost herself in this same studio on the night before, when she couldn't waste time talking to Tom because he was on a plane back home, she felt a few nerves building in her shoulders as she leaned back to grab for her bag and stand up.

"Sybil, how was your weekend with Tom?" Corey asked from his position stretching at the barre.

Sybil beamed. "Great. Really great. And, um, sorry about missing lunch. I—"

"They'll be more lunches," Nikki offered with a small smile hidden behind her eyes.

Sybil couldn't help but to smile back, and when she caught eyes with the rest of her classmates, she realized that they did not hold anything that occurred on Friday against her. They didn't judge her for the criticism she received from her teacher, nor did they fault her for going off to spend time with Tom. Dancers or not, there was heart here, heart that existed no matter how many years spent at the barre with feet tucked into leather shoes.

She was prepared, or at least she though she had been. It was only when her name was called, in the middle of the list this time, that she felt that same bubbling from before, apparent at the back of her throat. It was not her that pressed play on her iPod this time, but Alice, who stood off to the side in relaxed first position. This gave Sybil more time to get to the center of the floor and position herself before the music began to play and her body was no longer her own. She noticed, almost immediately, that she was much more centered than she had been on Friday. Her arch was seemingly perfect, and her turnout, just as free of flaws.

In particular, her fouette turns were wonderful, and she lost herself in them, turning as her face caught the line in the mirror to spot herself and maintain equilibrium. She spun in the way a child would, lost in a field like the one at Downton, dancing and turning because she was untouched by the world and all it carried with it. As she twirled, she counted, and did her best to keep her arms placed perfectly as she went en pointe then back down, over and over again. Briefly, she thought of Tom as well, and though she had been taught not to, she smiled, no longer caring what it was a ballerina was supposed to look like. She could point her toes and make note not to ever sickle, but the emotion she felt when dancing, was something she would never be able to control.

When the dance was over, Sybil bowed, and as she picked her head up she saw Miss LoTempo and the other instructors look at her as they never had before. It was only then that she felt them, the tears she had kept hidden at the airport and thereafter, sliding slowly down her cheeks. She didn't dare wipe at them, but instead wore them proudly. Even if she wanted to, they were a part of her she couldn't control, and they somehow matched perfectly with the smile she wore, concealed behind fingers that burned just like the rest of her: happy.

* * *

Thanks for reading! A short visit, but I'd say it was worth it. And don't get too upset that Tom's gone. The next chapter jumps forward a bit...

x. Elle


	22. Flaws

**A/N:** I AM SORRY this took me so long to post! Like I said, my beta was out of town for work and that prolonged the process a bit. Nonetheless, it's done now. Enjoy!

* * *

"You have always worn your flaws upon your sleeve  
And I have always buried them deep beneath the ground  
Dig them up; let's finish what we've started  
Dig them up, so nothing's left unturned  
All of your flaws and all of my flaws,  
When they have been exhumed  
We'll see that we need them to be who we are  
Without them we'd be doomed."  
_Flaws_ - Bastille

* * *

There was a pile of paperwork that Tom had been hiding behind lately. He drowned himself in it, in stacks of government documents and case briefs, ignoring that Sybil was still gone, and even though she'd be home tomorrow, even that seemed too far away. With the upcoming holiday, Tom and his coworkers didn't go out for lunch or drinks after work in the way that they did in the beginning of the year. Since then, they had lost a journalist to a bigger, more scandalized magazine, and Tom had found that the work he performed, no matter how satisfactory, had its draw backs. The hours were long, and the office, comprised mostly of men save for one rather brilliant woman, got crowded and stuffy even in the long London winter that was slowly setting in. The rain was persistent, and also distracting, doing him no favors as he lazily scrolled through scanned PDF files to find quotes and figures he was looking for. At the same time, however, he appreciated the work, as it took his mind off of other things; namely Sybil and her overall absence. He did his best not to call her here, though the two would exchange various texts and emails throughout the day. It was only in the morning, and seemingly every moment after he had left work, when he'd allow her to cross his mind before his fingers moved, dialing her number and waiting for her raspy voice on the other end of the line.

Out in the office, he heard the door slam. All day Hunter had people, ones Tom knew by face, but never by name, walking in and out of the lobby. They'd sit at the couch in front of the secretary's desk and wait to be called. It was all very casual, but Tom understood the risk Hunter paid, playing these types of games. To be the first one to report a story required not only time, but dedication to the craft, and an overall respect for the news as well. It was a duty Hunter felt that he had to the public, one that often placed him in hot water, or in other magazines, being criticized for exposing scandal and upsetting the otherwise peaceful political world. Such claims would make Tom and his coworkers laugh because they knew the truth; the world, even the small one that they usually touched upon in England, was anything but peaceful. With the addition of Tom, Hunter found his pieces extending beyond Westminster and to places like Mali and China. As an outsider himself, Tom had a special care when it came to looking at how England, and London politics in particular, had an impact on the rest of the world.

He heard footsteps behind him and checked his watch, hoping that lunch was finally here. The knock on his office door alerted him that it was, but when he stood up, he didn't see an intern carrying a takeout bag, but instead, his best friend dressed casually in a pair of jeans and sneakers, a large cable knit sweater falling carefully off her shoulders. Immediately he stood and walked to her. She smiled and he returned the favor before picking her up and spinning her around. From their position in the doorway they were unseen to most of the office, but he wished for more privacy and stepped back to give it to them.

As Tom set her back down, he kissed her lips. "Hi," he murmured, before kissing her once more.

"Surprise," she whispered, her word coming out almost like a question. "I know you're busy and that you have work but I finished all of my packing early so I took the red eye out."

Tom chuckled. "Thank god for that," he said. "Do your parents know?"

Sybil shook her head. "No. I'll tell them in the morning. I wanted to see you, without them, you know?" She was whispering now, as if to keep everyone else from hearing what she clearly meant to say. "I was thinking we could do dinner and have a night in? What do you think?"

Tom closed the door behind Sybil and then picked her up again. She yelped, but was beaming also, as he brought her to the edge of his desk and set her on the only part of his desk that was exposed and untouched by tasks and past articles. "We could do that," he stated simply.

Sybil giggled. "Is your door supposed to be shut?"

"Why not?" Tom shrugged. "It is my office."

Sybil looked around. First to the window overlooking the city, then to his desk and the two bookshelves behind it, all littered with binders and files, past publications, and journalism reviews. "It's a nice office," she commented. "Hey," she said, cupping Tom's face in her hands to fix his gaze upon her. "I haven't said it, but I am so proud of you." Tom tried to look away, but Sybil did not allow it. "I mean it, Tom. I'm really proud."

"Okay," he brushed off with a laugh.

"I have your name alerted on my phone."

"Well that's bad news," Tom commented. He was referring to the way other papers wrote about him, and not what Sybil had intended the alert for; the articles he had written. It was never as bad as the gossip that Hunter stirred, and few things they said were actually true. In a way, Tom appreciated all of this, as it distracted them from the issues they could be discussing like his Irish background or his relationship with an Earl's youngest daughter. It seemed that people that had met him at the Crawley's fundraisers all these years finally knew him, at least by name.

"It's not bad news," Sybil defended. "It's lovely. I get quite a few alerts every day. You're being published all over the world."

"It's work," Tom tried in a nonchalant manner that had Sybil rolling her eyes.

"Why can't you accept a compliment?" She wasn't angry, she just wanted him to believe in himself the way she did. For as confident as he always was, Sybil knew that beyond all of it, there was an insecurity Tom would always have in everything he did. It was ingrained deep within him, emphasized by the years he spent living at Downton and going to a private school, all of which was afforded to him by his mother's job and his friendship with Sybil. It made sense, then, that she was the one to assure him most of the time, to build him up to where he deserved to be, especially after his mother's passing.

Tom's eyes widened. "Are you kidding?"

Sybil laughed and dropped her head to Tom's shoulder. "Okay, okay," she said, as if to call a truce.

Her hands were resting on his hips now, gripping at the button up he wore underneath his suit jacket. Upward they traveled, allowing fingers to slide over a shirt she was sure he had ironed that morning, but that had already crinkled and lost its starched texture the more he moved about in the chair that sat behind his desk. Tom cupped her cheeks again and leaned in to kiss her. Like most of their embraces, it was slow at first, but soon became more passionate the longer their lips touched. Then it was not just lips, but tongues as well, fighting for dominance, causing Sybil to lean her head further to the side as Tom fixed the grip he had on her cheeks.

They separated only as the door swung open. Tom's hand immediately settled down Sybil's stomach from the place it had previously resided, cupping her chest over the bra she wore. They both looked over, and thanked the filing cabinet near the door from keeping it from opening fully to reveal them to the lobby. From its ajar position, only Hunter saw, and he smirked before nodding at Tom and Sybil. He also crossed his arms over his chest and leaned into the doorframe. "Hi Sybil," he said, in a sly manner. "I didn't know Tom had company."

"Well the door wasn't shut or anything," Tom deadpanned before looking back to Sybil.

Already, she was laughing. She pushed Tom aside and waved at Hunter. "Hi Hunter. Um, sorry, I, I mean, we—"

"Don't apologize to him," Tom kidded before looking back to Hunter, "This is my office," he reminded.

Sybil looked to Tom, hoping he could assure her that this was typical conversation between her boyfriend and his boss, but instead, Hunter played along, subsiding her apprehension. "I just think that Mr. and Mrs. Crawley would prefer the door open."

Tom laughed. He looked around the office then back to Hunter. "Are they here? I wasn't aware."

Hunter stepped into the office. "Okay, don't be a smartass. Did you finish that HR piece?"

"We're not going to get that article," Tom said. He sounded defeated, and if Hunter wasn't here, Sybil would have grabbed his cheeks and brought him back down, assuring him everything would be okay.

"Okay. Well, listen. If Rick gets back to me, I'll fill you in, but we can't sit on this overnight. Can you at least send me a draft before you leave?"

Tom nodded. "I have a draft," he explained. "The article is written. It just lacks the proof we need…"

Sybil remained, her eyes bouncing back and forth from Tom to Hunter, both of which seemed to have silently announced a stand still between them. "I'm heading out. Just email it to me—"

"By midnight," Tom said. Hunter shut the door, leaving Sybil and Tom behind in the silence. Behind them, London's winter hues were overtaking the sky, causing the office to appear dark. Tom reached behind Sybil to pull at the chord on his desk lamp. As he did, Sybil reached up to steady his face. She smiled as she saw the position he held with one hand on either side of her, practically pinning her to the desk. He growled as she kissed him, cutting off all sound but the steady inhalation of breath as they tried to make the moment last. Pulling away, Tom began to pepper Sybil's throat with adoration in the form of kisses, up and down the neckline of her sweater. "You know," he said before placing another kiss to the space behind her ear. "Everyone will be leaving soon. Friday's are always early days for most of the office and this desk is plenty large enough—"

"Tom Branson!" Sybil yelped, swatting at his chest. The moment was gone, only to replaced with a different kind of energy, one that made Tom's fingers itch as Sybil's cheeks turned red. "Don't be inappropriate."

Tom dropped his shoulders. "I'm just saying, love. Haven't we proved all of this abstinence business for long enough?" He sighed before leaning into her to smell her hair and nibble her ear. "I miss you, Syb."

Sybil sighed too. "I just—" She stopped, unsure of where to go from here. She wanted this, and she most definitely wanted him, but not just for the sake of it. It had to mean something, the way it always seemed to. It would mean just as much now, but Sybil knew, and she hoped to convince Tom that if they waited, it would mean more. "I miss you too, Tom. All of you," she said, with a smirk that had him practically moaning as he trusted her body to hold his weight up. "I just need to do this. For me, okay?"

Tom didn't move. He remained staring at the desk, his eyes darting back and forth from the dim screen of his laptop to the window behind Sybil's head.

"Hey, look at me, alright? Talk to me…"

He gave in to her pleading, but only enough to let his eyes linger on hers. "I'm not going to force you into anything, Syb. I just want to be with you. Like before. Or maybe not like before, I don't know. Why do we have to take it slow? That's never been us and really, I'm sick of being what people want. All I know is that every time we're together, every single fucking time, has never been sex for me. You've never been just a shag, so why is this suddenly an issue?"

"I just—" But again she stopped. "I want to know that we can be apart for a year and when we finally are together, I will still love you just as much. Even without all of—"

Tom dropped his head again, but stood up straight to cross his arms over his chest. "Okay."

Sybil joined him in standing. "Not okay. I mean, you're not okay. What? Does this mean that much to you? It's only a few more months."

Tom let out a small laugh before locking eyes with Sybil. "Does this mean a lot to me? Making love to my girlfriend, my best friend, the girl I'm in love with? Yeah, Syb, it does. It means a hell of a lot to me. It always has…"

She reached up to push back his hair. She wasn't completely sure but she imagined him combing it back each morning, perfecting the side part he always wore, and yet somehow ignoring the cowlick he had that made a few pieces at his hairline choose on their own which way they would fall. On stressful days, she imagined him pushing it back, running his hands through it out of frustration, only for the wax he had in it to push each strand back to where he had meant for it to go. She had seen him drop his head down onto his desk at Downton before on days when he was exhausted. Of course he'd pick his head back up and push on, usually sticking his nose back in a book, or in this case an article, with his hair seemingly untouched by how tired he was. He looked just as tired as he once had, but now, for a different reason; for a reason she was hesitant to admit she had been the cause of.

"It means the world to me, Tom. But I don't need it to love you. I don't need that intimacy to know that you love me. I just think we get lost in it sometimes and it's easy for us, and we ignore all the other ways there are to say I love you. I never said it to you then even though I wanted to. And now I can't get enough." He pulled her into a tight hug that she quickly accepted. "I love you, you big jerk," she murmured into his chest.

"I love you too, you prude."

Sybil pushed him away but he pushed back harder, holding her small frame close to his body, despite her protests. She gave in and smiled only when he kissed the tip of her nose. "Jerk," she murmured causing him to smile as well.

After several more kisses, and Tom's cold palm pressed to the small of Sybil's back, they separated. Sybil insisted that Tom stay and finish his work despite his attempts to leave with her. She wanted to explore his apartment on her own but she was also exhausted, and they both knew that his article would not get done if he brought it home with him, or if she remained at the office. All was officially settled when Tom's laptop made a noise signaling that he had an email. The email, he soon found out, contained the source information his article needed, making it easy for him to complete the assignment in Sybil's absence.

After leaving Tom's office, she headed for the tube, traveling just two stops to where, instead of picking up a connecting train, she walked several blocks to Tom's apartment. When she arrived, she looked up at the building she swore she had walked past many times before. She approached it, digging her key immediately into the lock. It was stubborn, as Tom told her it would be, but eventually it gave, allowing her to push the large metal door open. Her and her suitcases took the elevator up to Tom's studio apartment on the fourth floor.

The next lock was less stubborn. Suddenly Sybil found herself with Tom's keys and she wondered why he had so many. After setting her bags down by the door, she counted them: 7 keys. She guessed there was one for his car, one for his motorbike, and these two for his flat. There was a small key, like one to a lockbox, and she wondered, only briefly, what her best friend would even have that small to keep hidden. One of the other two keys reminded her of the one she had to Downton, but Sybil quickly dismissed that thought, sure that Tom had returned that key years ago when he first moved out to the garage. The last key was altogether foreign to her, but she accepted this, just as she was sure Tom had accepted that he would never know all of her classmates names, or even Sybil's own class schedule at Juilliard. He was her best friend, and as she had told him earlier, he meant the world to her. University, however, and this new job he was so heavily involved in, kept them at a distance that comforted them somehow. They needed to learn to exist alone so they could be stronger together. This summer, Sybil thought to herself, almost like a promise.

Sybil dropped her satchel on one of the stools in the kitchen. She had already passed a bathroom leading in from the front hall and found this room, really the only one, to be just as plain as the first. Still, there were touches of him, and somehow her, everywhere. On the windowsill was a vase of wilted flowers she could imagine Mary bringing over before dinner some night. It made Sybil wonder how many dinners she had missed, and as she opened the fridge and the cabinets and saw them both fully stocked, she wondered if Tom was cooking well for himself, and better yet, for anyone else. He'd never admit it, for whatever reason, but Sybil found Tom's cooking to be almost as good as his mother's. She was fine on her own, and could manage, but if given the choice, she much preferred for Tom to set the menu and purchase groceries. He had a taste for food that was left out of her when her parents chose careers and house cooks over quality time with their daughter in the kitchen. The little bit of culinary wisdom she did hold was imparted upon her by Mrs. Branson, but was limited to the basic knowledge needed by a girl of fourteen: how to bake cookies, how to put on a pot of tea, and how to make Tom's favorite dish - a traditional Irish Apple Potato Cake. The same recipe that Sybil had once turned her nose up to was one of the only things Sybil could perfect in a kitchen, and she had, many times since Tom's mother's passing. In fact, it was this sweet that she baked and brought to him at three in the morning on the night of her passing, where they then shared a piece huddle on his bed, crying together, with her holding him especially close.

As Sybil walked out of Tom's kitchen, she found herself immediately in the living room, where a throw she was sure she had seen somewhere in her childhood home, was draped across the back of the couch. Sybil wanted to think that Tom had just taken it from Downton, sure that nobody would miss it. However, she was more confident in the thought of her mother insisting he take it, to which Tom reluctantly accepted the gift, only to find it was useful on nights when he fell asleep on the couch thinking of her. The furniture itself was all new and characteristically Tom: modern with clean lines. She imagined, if only for a moment when she was being honest with herself, that the flat they would share someday would look eerily similar.

Out of the living room, she walked past two partitions, both of which split the large windows Tom always talked about, right down the middle. This left one large window in the hallway across from another bathroom, and the other window into his bedroom, a room she fell in love with just as quickly as she had once fallen in love with him. It was white, or at least the sheets were, with a simple thick black bed frame she was sure Tom had custom made. A towel hung from one of the bedposts, and her pillow, a soft lavender lace that had been faded after years of use, sat atop all the other pure white shams.

Sybil stepped further into the room and turned to where a wall dipped back, exposing a closet. Dress shirts and tweed vests and dark pairs of fitted jeans were all hung carefully, causing Sybil to reach out and brush her fingers across each hanging sleeve. She wondered when he had gone shopping and really, when he had become such a man. It seemed only yesterday they were children at Downton, ignorant to the jobs they would someday obtain and all the stress and distance it would place between them. As a girl of five, or even ten or fifteen, she would have never guessed she'd be in New York pursuing her dream while Tom remained in London, seeking out his own.

As she stepped back, she reached up, her mind already claiming one of the carefully folded flannels from a top shelf of the closet. Holding the cuffs of her sweater, she slipped each arm through the sleeves of the flannel and then looked down to smooth the fabric. Her body was practically swimming in it, with her hips drowning beneath where the soft material hung low over her backside. Her entire body had been chilled since she stepped onto the tarmac at Heathrow, weighted down by the moisture that was always present in the air in London finally seeping into her bones.

Sybil stepped away from the closet to lean back on the bed. Like the shirts in the closet, her fingers itched to touch the fabric of the comforter, so fluffy and white. She needed to feel him here and memorize the routine she was sure he would soon involve her in, if only her parents could ignore her absence. In reality, she could only smile, loving how his bed was made and how the last time hers was fixed it was because of him. She much preferred getting into an unmade bed, something Tom only accepted when their lovemaking was hurried and hidden. Now that that was no longer necessary, especially with their promise, Sybil began to think that perhaps she would enjoy a made bed every morning too. Maybe one like that at the Gramercy, where they sipped at hot beverages from mugs they both hid behind as they filled each other in on all that was missed with the other so far away. Messy bedsheets and soft linen would kiss the skin, but in due time, she told herself. For now, his bed, or maybe hers back at Downton, would act as a stage, but one much different than those she had danced on since leaving this town four short months ago. There was no audience of spectators telling her to keep her chin up and her toes pointed. Here, the only criticism she would accept would be from Tom, but even that would never come, as he always preferred to spend his time adoring her as she did the same for him.

On the bedside table was a small lamp, an alarm clock, and a book with a page nearly half-way through marked with a post it. Sybil grabbed for the book and turned it over, studying the faded cover beyond what the title and author had to offer. Finding she was still intrigued, she opened the book and flipped through the pages.

It was clear that the flowers in the kitchen or the heavy bedspread she now sat on were not enough; she wanted all of him, as much as this apartment could give her, and she'd take whatever she found without asking. This was why, of course, she began to read the book Tom was reading. She still had a couple more hours before he'd return home, and she was sure that she could get through most of what he had tackled previously. Then, they would be on solid footing, with at least this book to bind them until all that she had left behind in August came rushing back.

Sybil could not make it as far as Tom, and she realized this only when she awoke, the book opened on her stomach, and her hair falling out of its ponytail as Tom ran a finger up and down the bridge of her nose. It stirred her, but upon opening her eyes and seeing him, she only smiled before snuggling further into his bed.

"Well," Tom commented. "Definitely not a bad way to come home…" Sybil raised an eyebrow, urging him to continue. "With my girlfriend waiting in my bed."

"Waiting?" She asked as she used her hands to move herself into a sitting position. "I'm sorry your standards are so low. I'll have to work on my seduction for you next time. I'm thinking less clothes, but keep the book?"

"You know I love a girl who reads," he played along. Tom was standing at the closet now. He had already pulled his tie loose from around his neck and was currently working on the buttons of his shirt. His suit jacket laid at the foot of the bed near where Sybil's legs stretched out.

Sybil sat perched up against his headboard with a pillow behind her back, watching. She smiled, as her eyes took in his movements, all the while paying her little to no attention at all. Somehow, she took this as an invite, and stepped off the bed and into him, untying his tie and then smoothing his shirt off his shoulders. She hung his tie and suit jacket up in the closet, careful not to show him that she was certain both were placed incorrectly. The shirt she had just rid him of was placed in a hamper by the door. Tom paid no attention to his old clothes and instead watched as she exposed her lower back to him as she reached up for an empty hanger. He had never seen Sybil put away clothing in his or her life and suddenly this domestic side of her had him wanting her in a way he never had before. He would have told her if he didn't think she'd be so offended, and then, if she wasn't smiling, knowing exactly why he looked so pleased.

"How was work?" she asked, now back on the edge of the bed. She sat with her legs pulled into herself in the way that she always did when concentrating. Sybil always seemed to become a heap of limbs the more internal her thoughts were. This forced Tom to take notice, and smile, if only to calm her fears.

"Good. The article is all done so I am yours until Monday."

"Ahhh, yes," Sybil sing-songed. "I am off from school but how selfish of me to think you didn't have work."

Tom removed his belt and hung it in the closet. In just an undershirt and his jeans, he walked to Sybil and joined her on the bed to take off his shoes. He looked like he wanted to say something, to pick up their conversation exactly where she had left an opening, but she quickly cut him off. "What are those shoes?"

Tom reached down and gripped his shoes, one hand on the heel and the other on the rubber toe. "These? I've had these for years, Syb," he said simply before chucking the shoe into the closet.

Sybil leaned back and sighed. "I know, love. That's what I meant. Why do you wear them?"

"Why not? I don't have a typical office job. I may be the youngest there but—"

"Converse? You're a reporter, Tom Branson. And judging by this closet," she indicated with a nod of the head, "You've done some shopping. I just thought you'd buy new shoes too. Nice leather ones…" her voice said, already trailing off.

"It was Mary, actually."

Sybil looked up. "What?"

"And Edith too." He threw the other shoe into the closet and settled back onto the bed with her. "The new clothes. They wanted to throw me a housewarming, but instead, I let them and your mother take me shopping."

Sybil giggled. "Well, if the Crawley women can do anything right, it's shop."

"They've been great while you've been gone," Tom said, suddenly making the air appear heavy and serious. The chill Sybil felt in her bones could no longer be attributed to the heavy snow falling outside.

"I know."

Tom leaned into Sybil and cupped the side of her face. His other hand dropped down to her hip, steadying his own body as his weight pushed them back onto the pillows of his bed. "God, I missed you, Syb."

He kissed the tip of her nose. "It's only been a few weeks. Gramercy," she said, "was only five weeks ago."

"Five weeks too long, m'love."

Sybil nodded, accepted the kiss Tom was now placing to her forehead, then the corner of her mouth, then finally, her lips. It was this kiss that sent her head spinning, and her hands reaching up to touch him. They detached to breathe, but their lips barely separated, and their noses brushed against one another, before they leaned in again to taste.

"I don't want you to think that just because I missed you, that you missed anything, you know?"

Sybil nodded before kissing him again. Again, they barely separated, with limbs becoming lazy as eyelashes fluttered against cheeks. "But I have. I've missed so much. Your apartment—"

"You're everywhere," he said, almost as a correction to words she was only just thinking.

Sybil nodded. "It's been really difficult but we have a month now."

"Maybe your parents will let me stay at Downton while you're home and then I can take the train into the city each morning."

Sybil laughed. She placed a palm to Tom's chest and bit her lip. "Or I could stay here." Her eyes, previously looking away, finally caught onto his own. He felt it, and she looked away, only to settle back onto him, pleading for an answer.

"Your parents have been great, too." His words warned for her to respect them, to not spoil this before it even began.

Sybil sighed. "Yeah, of course."

"And I'd have you here forever, if it were up to me—"

"But it's not," she finished for him. "I know. I just thought, maybe." Sybil sighed. "Well, I don't really know what I thought."

"Hey, none of that, okay? We have so much time. Christmas isn't even here, and then it's the New Year. It's almost a month," Tom said, repeating her earlier words. He wore a cheery smile that melted her heart and made her laugh. Somehow this had all turned very childlike, reminding them both that at the end of the day, they both were nineteen now, and yet somehow very much the children they used to be. "Thirty four days," Tom offered.

"Thirty five," Sybil corrected with a sly smile that almost unleashed the tears both were holding back. "I mean, I am home a day early."

"You are," Tom agreed. The tears were gone, and it was just the smiles they painted and wore proudly for one another. It was not the first time, and it most certainly would not be the last, they wore a smile for the sake of the other's happiness. "Did you want to go out? I shouldn't have changed," he said, thinking better of it.

"No, this is perfect," Sybil said as she pushed Tom away only so she could sit up. "Let's have a night in. Order some pizza, watch a movie, and in the morning you can make me breakfast!"

Tom chuckled. "Oh good. I'm glad you've thought this all through."

"Thoroughly," Sybil confirmed.

Tom reached out to touch Sybil and using the backs of her knees, pull her close to him once more. Softly, he kissed her eyelids and then angled her head to place a lingering kiss to her lips. "I owe you a first date," he stated. "Maybe when you're home for the summer. You and me. Somewhere nice. I mean," he stopped. "If you wanted."

Slowly, Sybil smiled, her features brightening the more she thought about it. "Of course. Yeah." She was never the type of girl that needed those events, and her and Tom were certainly accepting of how unconventional they were, but Tom wasn't asking because he thought it was what she expected. He asked because it was something he wanted to do for her, and for reasons Sybil would never understand, he thought she deserved such treatment. And for every moment Tom thought this, Sybil was formulating ways to pay him back. Her indecisiveness didn't come because she felt as if she deserved to be treated poorly, but rather from her lack of understanding that with all the girls in the world, and for as wonderful as Tom was, he chose her. Of course just as she let that thought settle, all was erased from her mind; this wasn't a choice they made, at least not consciously. Not even the most meticulous planning could have ended them up here; in love on a bed they would soon find ways to lose themselves in.

Tom leaned over and called for the pizza. He then did something that surprised Sybil, and turned his phone off. It was a bold move, she told him, but one that earned him all her love and attention as she straddled his lap and placed wet kisses to his jawline. When the friction between them grew to be too much, Tom inched the fabric she wore, his and hers, up her stomach and chest, then over her head to where her arms pointed skyward, aiding him in the process. Her flannel and his sweater fell to the floor silently as he urged her to sit back so he could help her remove her jeans. The sneakers she wore, her ratty white converse, landed in his closet near his own, the same ones she had commented on earlier. It was fitting, they supposed, that parts of them refused to accept the new roles society had given them. Adult roles with responsibilities and stresses that kids in Chuck Taylor high tops would have once thought to be silly.

Now in nothing but a rather provocative pair of black lace panties, Tom sighed, before reaching out to touch Sybil. Even back in Manhattan, his fingers didn't dare to go this far. He didn't have the control he had here, where even in a flat which was foreign to Sybil, they both stood on familiar ground. This city was their city, and somewhere, just a stop or two by train, the childhood home they shared was no doubt getting to say goodbye to this day as well.

Tom's tongue danced against her skin, all the way down to the supple skin of each nipple. His hands moved, pressing firmly into her belly, and rubbing at her shoulders and neck, but they didn't dare tease down below her waist. He knew better, and so did she. Tom was tired of discussing the promise they had made to one another, and although he'd never tell Sybil this, it was only today that he really accepted what it all meant. He owed it to her, and to himself, to follow through. Tonight, this meant separating his mouth from her breasts and kissing back up to her lips where he left her with a chaste kiss. Without taking his eyes off of her waiting form, Tom leaned down to grab the flannel he had just rid her of, and with it, he covered her body up again. Instantly, he missed the beauty of her naked form, but reveled in the sweet smile she showed to him as she reached up and jumped on his back, prompting him to bring them both out of the bedroom and to the living room. On the way, Sybil thought better of leaning down to stroke him through the sweatpants he wore, and instead nibbled at Tom's ear. He dropped his head back to give her better access, but when they reached the couch, Sybil stood tall behind Tom before pulling his body back to lean into her. This was the exact position they laid in, even after the pizza was delivered and eaten. Tom made tea, most of which went to waste, as their tongue preferred to taste and talk, rather than hide the way it once had in New York.

As eyes grew tired, they discussed the particulars of Tom's article, and several more she had read and had questions about. Sybil considered herself to be worldly, though she found she didn't read the paper as much in New York. It was easier with Tom in her bed each morning, scrolling through headlines on his phone, or sipping at a mug of coffee while spending the time waiting for her to awake, reading the paper.

Sometime between the tea, and their argument over what movie to watch, which led to them deciding to forfeit the idea altogether, Sybil and Tom were sitting on opposite ends of the couch. Sybil's feet were in Tom's lap and she flinched when he reached out to touch them.

"Oh god, please don't," she sighed.

Tom looked down to her feet. They were red, and even with some of her toes bandaged, he could see the irritation and the blisters present. "They're not that bad."

"You're not repulsed? I'm repulsed," she deadpanned.

Tom dropped his head back to laugh. "You know I've seen your feet before, right?"

"Do you have socks? I'll go get some socks…"

"Syb, are you serious? They're feet. And they're your feet." A beat and then: "Ugly parts, right?"

Sybil looked up from her lap, where her hands rested, picking at the cuticles on her thumb. "Ugly parts," she confirmed, but then her smile faded. "I didn't get the lead for the recital."

Tom looked up. His hands were massaging the arch of her foot, knowing that it was this that would make her so desirable to many ballet companies. They hadn't talked about it since, but his mind still lingered on the call he got just a month ago, when Sybil was offered a contract with the New York City Ballet. Of course she declined the offer, just like all the others, but Tom wondered if she'd soon realize her potential and leave him in London for places much farther than New York.

"But there's your solo piece, right?"

"Yeah. And I got an okay part. I just didn't get the principal the way I had hoped."

"Do you think they're doing it to teach you a lesson? They want you to sign, Syb. Maybe by giving you a smaller role, they'll get you used to working in the corps setting."

Sybil shrugged. "Maybe. But it doesn't matter what they want. I made it clear in my personal statement that I didn't want to join a company. If that was such a problem for them, they shouldn't have offered me admission."

"Okay, well what show is it? I'm sure you'll be highlighted in some way."

Sybil scrunched her nose. "La Bayadere," she said simply.

Tom sat up straighter. "But you love that show!"

Sybil nodded. "I do. And I got one of the shades from Act 3. But Nikki got Nikiya."

"Maybe it's a name thing," Tom tried, but to no avail; Sybil forced a smile but didn't laugh. "Syb, you love that show, and when we went to see it last year, you always said you'd love to be a shade dancer."

"It's just a stupid idea. You need twenty four girls. My class only has three girls that dance en pointe, and the other two shades are seniors. I'm going to look stupid."

"Then you'll look stupid."

Sybil looked up, her eyes and mouth suddenly offended by what Tom said. Still, she knew what he was doing and she hated him for it. He would allow her to complain to him, just as he did to her, but if she was going to belittle herself and her talent, he found playing along and allowing her to do so, took away the fun in all of it. The minute Tom made Sybil believe that she was less gifted than she was, was the minute Sybil wanted to prove she was so much better than she'd ever let on, if only for him. "But like you said, I'll have my solo piece. That did get picked."

"Have you decided what you want to do yet?"

"Colin and I are working on something."

Tom nodded. "I didn't know you could just choose to work with someone else like that."

"Well Colin got the male lead in the opening number, but his solo piece didn't get picked."

"And you don't mind sharing the stage?"

Sybil shook her head and began to beam. "I want to fly," she whispered.

Tom smiled too. "You're such a dork," he commented, but he thought of how, with or without Colin, she'd always been able to fly. It amazed him really, for as involved as she was with dancing, he still couldn't grasp the way her body moved about, turning stiffly, and yet making it look so easy and comfortable. Her feet may be sore and battered, but they were this way because of the time she spent dedicating herself to her craft, loving something other than him, almost just as much. Whether it be dance, or another passion, maybe one she'd find down the road as they grew older, he'd be there to cheer her on and make sure her feet, regardless of the damage, always settled back down to the ground safely. He did this for her because she gave him a similar strength. The night was settled only when the two lovers reverted to best friends, and fell asleep beneath Tom's duvet, gently embracing. The strength they gave one another was here, and more determined now after months spent apart.

Before falling asleep completely, Sybil texted her mother and father, telling them that she took an early flight out and would be home the following morning. She apologized out of fear for disrespecting them, but she made sure not to regret where she'd be sleeping that night, nestled into Tom's chest. Both her and Tom were sure her parents would have so much to say about the arrangement, accusing them both of planning this in advance, and just failing to notify them. In the meantime, however, the teenagers neglected to think that way, and instead, breathed one another in as they accepted the slumber that soon settled in.

* * *

Why is it that I never seem to time my fics well with what is actually going on in the world? My summer is just beginning and Sybil and Tom are about to embark on their first Christmas holiday as a couple. I will really have to work on my planning.

Anyway, as usual, thank you for reading! Reviews would be splendid!

x. Elle


	23. Teenagers

**A/N:** I forgot to mention it, but thank you to the reader(s) crazy enough to nominate me for a Highclere Award. Nominations always mean much more to me than actual awards, so I really appreciate it!

* * *

"We're teenagers.  
We count the years,  
We think we're smart  
But we're not.  
We don't know anything."  
_Teenagers_ - Hayley Williams

* * *

After a quick kiss to the lips, Sybil detached from Tom and quickly removed herself from his car. On the drive over she told him that she didn't think it necessary for him to come inside, but even when he went to help her with her luggage, she stopped him. "I've got it," she said sweetly. "Now go. I'll call you after I'm done at lunch."

She was running late. Her and Tom had spent a few stolen moments that somehow turned into an hour in bed that morning after waking up. With their noses practically touching, they stole glances and touched skin before the sun could rise and tell them there were other things to be done with their time. When Sybil finally looked to the alarm clock on Tom's bedside table, her eyes widened and she jumped up, pushing Tom away so she could throw on some clothing and head out. They forfeited a shower and the breakfast Tom promised he'd prepare for Sybil. But as they discussed on the night before, they had thirty-four days now for shared showers and breakfasts.

Tom watched Sybil in the rearview mirror of the car, just waiting for her to shoot him a glance that begged for help. Instead, a smile appeared across her features as she closed the trunk and began to walk toward the door with her things. The door was unlocked, making it easy for Sybil to push inside. Carson was already heading for the door as he must have heard Tom's car noisily pull up onto the gravel, even from his position all the way in the kitchen helping Mrs. Hughes prepare brunch.

"Carson, please do not help Sybil. It's clear she is more than capable of carrying her bags all the way up the stairs."

Sybil dropped her things as she saw her mother, descending the stairs to head straight for her. Sybil met her on the landing, but then walked on by, shouting a quick hello over her shoulder.

"Hello?" Cora asked incredulously. "No 'how are you?' Your father and I were really looking forward to picking you up this morning, Sybil. His assistant got the email and alerted us or else we would be halfway to the airport by now."

"I'm sorry," Sybil managed. "I didn't mean to ruin your plans. I just—"

"Wanted to see Tom? Well it was selfish! Other people miss you. Your father and I, believe it or not, have missed you very much." Cora touched a palm to her forehead before looking back to her daughter. It was an attempt to regain her composure, but it was not enough. She was angry and had been since she and Robert received news of their daughter's early arrival; this was just something else they would add to their list of things about Sybil they could no longer control. "It was just an email, Sybil. You couldn't have even called? And it was so late too. What if something happened?"

"It was a text," Sybil corrected.

Cora's eyes burned as she narrowed them in on her daughter. "Do not play smart with me, Sybil! I haven't seen you in almost four months and then you come home early without telling you father and I. You barely call when you're at school and when we call you, you hurry us off the phone. You stayed at Tom's despite our instructions—"

"It was close!" Sybil explained. "I am an adult! What if he came to New York with me? What if he worked as a journalist there? You wouldn't be able to control us then!"

Cora sighed. She looked up at her daughter, standing now a few steps above. "This isn't about control, Sybil. This is about you and the decisions you have been making lately. You said you wanted to go to New York, so we allowed that. You said you wanted to be with Tom, so we allow that—"

"Barely," Sybil whispered under her breath.

"Oh, Sybil, please! I have bitten my tongue so many times in this house. I have kept my mouth shut when I saw Tom sleeping in your room, or you leaving his room in the early morning…" Her voice trailed off.

"You always play the martyr role! You're the parent, alright? If you have a problem with it, say something! But no! That's so incredibly difficult for you to just open your mouth and speak up." Sybil paused. "Did you even know?"

Cora sighed. "What are you talking about?"

"With Papa!" Sybil yelled. "Did you know he was fucking the secretary behind your back?"

"SYBIL, THAT IS ENOUGH!"

Sybil paid no attention to her mother. The words she was speaking were ones she saved from long ago, words she never thought she'd be able to speak. "Did you care? Or did you just keep your mouth shut? You know, you say you hate confrontation, but God forbid you be a wife and a mother!"

"I am done here. Go up to your room."

Sybil bit her lip. What she said was even too much for her. "I'm sorry," she started, but it was clear her mother wanted none of it. "I didn't...I'm just—" She had no other apologies to give or even an explanation to share to alleviate the pain her mother was feeling. Even if there were, Sybil was torn between knowing her mother deserved to hear them, while at the same time Sybil had things she needed to get off her chest. "That was unfair," she settled.

"Sybil, what can your father and I give you that you don't already have? What can we do to make all of this okay?"

"You can't give me anything," she said simply. "I have what I want and I'm happy. I'm enjoying university and I'm learning and growing. And I have Tom…"

Cora sighed. "We just don't want you to put all of your eggs in one basket. Not with dancing, but with Tom. You're young, Sybil."

"I am," she agreed, but failed to let her voice drop off. "We are." She was young, but her and Tom would always be young in her parents eyes. Sybil imagined that if Tom's mother was still alive, she'd think the same thing. It was hard to admit, but she was sure his mother would have the same apprehensions at watching her son and his best friend fall in love. "I don't want anything. I don't need money or whatever. If you and Papa don't want to continue funding my education then I'll take out loans—"

Cora crossed her arms over her chest and looked away from her daughter. "Don't be ridiculous. That won't be necessary. We'll pay for your schooling just like we did for Mary and Edith. That's what parents do."

Sybil nodded and went to ascend the steps, but stopped herself and turned back to her mother. "I love him. I love him so, so much. And I can't explain it and I don't want to have to. I just do. He's my best friend Mama, and I can't understand why this is so hard for you and Papa to understand."

"Sybil, you have to try and understand where I'm coming from as a mother. Your father and I may have not been at our best these couple of years but we're working on it. I guess when you told me about your father, I gave up. I had lost control of my marriage and I pushed you all away. Your grandmother absolutely hated me for it, but I didn't know what else to do. What was I supposed to do? Kick him out? This is his house just as much as it is mine. And where would that have left you and Tom? There was stability here, even amongst the unhappiness. I guess, I just wanted to let you know that I am sorry. No, I did not know and I hate that my own daughter had to be the one to tell me of my husband's infidelity. I hate that this may have pushed you to Tom—"

"It didn't," Sybil said, looking up. "Please, don't ever think that. Not even for a second," she pleaded. "I just love him. Isn't that enough? Your daughter is in love with someone who treats her so well. That's enough for Tom and me."

"I'm just saying that your father and I left you alone for awhile. We both checked out. And I will not speak for him but I know he'll never tell you how upset that makes him. You know, you two may never acknowledge it, but you're more alike than you know. Stubborn and headstrong. He hates that he had no idea and that no matter what he did, the things he bought you, or the people he introduced you to, you'd still pick Tom. Really, Sybil, he still doesn't get it."

"Why can't either of you talk to me? I know the affair was hard on you and I know he regrets it everyday, but why did I have to suffer? Why is the Downton I grew up in so much different than the one Mary and Edith knew? I'm tired of the secrets, Mama."

Cora reached out to touch Sybil's hand. "Me too, my darling."

Cora thought this would be the end of the conversation, that Sybil would finally go upstairs and get ready for the meeting she was already running late for. Instead, her daughter remained, looking down at the floor where her foot kicked at the carpet. "I'm sorry for staying at Tom's. We didn't," Sybil sighed, unable to continue._ It would never get any easier_, she thought. "We didn't want to disrespect you. I just took the red eye out to surprise him and we had a nice night in."

Cora sighed too, nodding her head to acknowledge how difficult this was for Sybil, and really, how difficult it would be for any daughter to speak to her mother so honestly about these things. "You worry your father, Sybil. I mean, I think that what's done is done, but he cannot see it that way."

"We weren't intimate. And even if we were, we're safe. It's not about that. We're not—" She stopped herself again. "I'm not a child anymore. These things happen, and you should be happy that I have found someone who respects and adores me for them to happen with."

"Okay," Cora stated simply, before pursing her lips. "I just wish you had come to talk to me. Sex is scary, Sybil. It's a big commitment."

"I wasn't scared," Sybil replied. "Not for a second. And I'm still not scared. So please don't worry about me. I know the commitment I've made to Tom, and not just based on all of this. He's my best friend. That doesn't change now, you know. He'll be my best friend until the day I die."

"My darling, a mother will forever worry about her daughters."

~!~

"I'm sorry I'm late," Sybil huffed before setting down her satchel and pulling out one of the cafe chairs across from where her sisters sat. "The train was running behind and then the bus—"

Mary swallowed the tea she had just sipped and put her cup down. "You took the bus?"

Sybil nodded. "I thought it would have been quicker."

Edith glanced to Mary then back to Sybil. The two eldest Crawley girls shared a suspicious smile as they both simultaneously sipped at their tea cups. "Well New York has certainly changed you."

Sybil searched Edith's eyes for a better answer. "Changed?"

Mary nodded. Again, her cup was down on the table but she leaned forward now, stirring at her glass of ice water with a black straw. "For the better, definitely. The old Sybil Crawley would have never taken a bus. I'm proud of you, babes."

"Me too," Edith added, not wanting to be overshadowed by Mary, but also feeling truly happy for her sister and the growth bestowed upon her while she was in New York working hard to chase her dream. It was courage that Mary certainly lacked, and that Edith may have acknowledged at one point, but never acted upon.

Sybil smiled. "Thanks."

A waitress came over to pour new tea for Mary and Edith and to get Sybil's drink order. All three girls then ordered their lunch, ranging from seafood soup to sandwiches and salads.

"How was the flight over?" Edith inquired.

Sybil smiled at the waitress who returned, bringing with her a tall glass of iced tea. She set it down in front of the teen, and after Sybil thanked her, she told the entire table that their food would be out shortly.

"It was good. The flight was good, last night at Tom's was good—"

Mary sat forward and crossed her legs. "Mama and Papa let you spend the night at Tom's?"

"Oh, why do you care?" Edith asked.

"Why do I care?" Mary asked rather loudly. "Matthew and I weren't allowed a moment alone even after we announced our engagement."

"Well that's just the faults that come with you being the firstborn…" Edith tried.

"Mama and Papa didn't know, actually," Sybil began, if anything to cause the argument between her sisters to dissipate. "I texted them that night and told them I was home, but wouldn't actually be back to Downton until the morning. I figured by then they couldn't say—"

"No," Mary finished for her sister. She exhaled. "Can I say something?"

Sybil slumped forward. She stirred at her iced tea, just in the way Mary had before. "Sure. Yeah, of course…" With her phone on her lap, she was unable to look up to Mary while she spoke. She was just waiting for Tom to text or call. They had texted briefly before she got into the shower that morning, and then she threw her phone on speaker onto her bed while she walked around her room, specifically from the bathroom to the closet, in an attempt to get ready for the day. It was odd to her that she had just gone almost another full month without seeing him, when now, just after a few hours, her heart ached to feel him close again.

Edith received the same attention from Sybil but was not as moved by it as Mary was. Mary and Sybil had always been the closest, though on the whole they all considered themselves to be close to one another. It didn't matter though, and Edith never took it as harshly as aunts and family friends told her she should. This only gave her time to find herself, time she so desperately needed. Her independence got her a flat in London, her successful career, and the man she would soon marry. It was the same independence she wished Sybil would soon create, away from Downton, and with Tom, if that's what the two of them wanted.

"I think you and Tom are moving too fast."

"What?" Sybil asked, finally looking up. Those were not the words she was expecting to hear from her sister. "Why do you say that?" she asked, urging Mary to explain herself, hoping all the while that her statements were wise and kind. "We've been together far longer than just this summer, you know."

Edith rolled her eyes. "Dear god do not remind us." The last bit made Sybil, even lost in her apprehension with Mary, smirk.

"I just think that you need to figure out who you are before you jump into all of that. I don't agree with Mama and Papa that you should never go there, I'm just saying that you're home for a bit, and soon, you'll be home for the summer. Use this time when you're young to live at home and figure life out. If you want to teach dance classes, teach dance classes. If you want to take classes somewhere, then do that. But if you change too many things and keep nothing constant, you'll never be able to point to the one thing that keeps you happy."

"Tom."

"What?" Mary asked, not hearing her sister clearly.

"Tom," Sybil repeated. "Tom makes me happy." She sighed. "I know what you're saying and I love you for it, Mary. I get why you want me to slow down and I wish I could, but I don't want to. I like where my life is heading. I'm finally happy and confident in the choices I've made, choices that Tom has helped me to make," she reminded. "And he's in a great place too and we just want to be in this great place together. We've always done all of this stuff with one another, so why stop now? Sometimes I think—" But Sybil stopped herself. That was not her secret to share, not entirely. If and when she did finally reveal it, it would be to Tom, and she hoped he would kiss her tearstained cheeks and promise her it would all be alright.

"What is it?" Edith asked.

"I just think we should have kept it all a secret. It's done us absolutely no good to have it out in the open. For what? For Mama and Papa's mistrust? For everyone to judge and give their opinions—"

Mary closed her eyes tightly. "I was only just trying to—"

"Not you," Sybil quickly corrected.

"Sybil, nobody is judging you. So you love Tom and have for quite some time. Great. And I know why you finally came clean, and in my opinion, it was about time. I can't imagine keeping a secret for that long. But Mama and Papa are reacting no differently toward you than they would if it were Mary or myself still in the house."

"But they are though," Mary said, not even bothering to glance at Edith as she spoke.

"What?"

"They are. Their eyes have been opened. If you or myself had been sleeping with Tom while we were at the house, they would have had no idea."

"Okay, ew," Sybil commented.

Mary and Edith laughed, but once the laughter settled down, Mary continued: "I'm just saying that they went through a lot after we left the house, E," Mary said, using the nickname she had for her sister. "Papa had the affair, Papa hid the affair, Sybil found out about the affair, Sybil told Mama of the affair, Mama and Papa had it out, the affair ended. Where was Sybil supposed to go?"

"You know, I'm really sick of people thinking I turned to Tom because of this stupid affair. The two have nothing in common."

Mary reached out to touch Sybil's fingertips from across the table. "No, of course not, love. But the timing was right, wasn't it?"

Sybil sat back and pouted. "Fine," she settled. "But they needn't treat me like a child."

"And why not?" Mary challenged. "You are a child, Sybil! You live in their home off of their money! Let's leave Tom out of this. I know it's hard for you to do, because it always has been, but for just a moment let's pretend he doesn't exist. You are currently being fast tracked to sign to a company—"

"I don't want to sign!" Sybil yelled. Upon realizing how loud her voice was, she slumped back in her chair. The patrons around them didn't seem to notice, and if they had, they didn't care, but Sybil cared, the way she always did despite doing her best to swear she did not.

"Fine. But you're living a dream. And it just so happens to be your dream," Mary emphasized. "And you're good at it, not because of anything they have done, or really anything Tom or anyone else has done, but because you have put your heart and time into dancing. These are big things and yet despite it all, you are a child. You are a girl of nineteen who has so much to learn about the way the world works. If you are asking Mama and Papa to open their eyes, perhaps it would be best for you to take your own advice. Admit that sometimes, you don't have all of the answers. Sometimes you're just lost and figuring it all out. Really, I don't think you realize how at ease this would put our parents."

Sybil sighed. She was playing with her cuticles in her lap, and now brushed away the dead skin and chipped nailpolish that pooled on her jeans. She was done with it, done with all of it. Mary had a point, a very large one in fact. Sybil would admit this to herself, but never to anyone else. She'd share what her sister said to Tom later that evening, she was sure, but it was her duty, or at least the duty she had taken on, to keep these things to herself. To do anything else was to give them power, and Sybil was certain Mary had plenty of that without her acknowledgement.

"Okay,"

Mary smirked. "Oh, you are Papa through and through."

"Whatever," Sybil commented back, not giving her sister the satisfaction in seeing the smile she wore as she turned her head away to pretend staring at an elderly couple inside the cafe buying sweets.

"Well let's change the topic anyway," Edith began.

"To you?" Mary side-eyed.

Edith tapped a finger or two to her breastbone. "Of course to me. After all, it is my wedding we are planning."

"Right," Sybil huffed. "What have I missed?"

"All of it," Mary deadpanned. "Or at least that's what you should be wishing." She then looked to Edith. "For a girl that always said a wedding was not necessary, you have the most lavish demands."

"They're not demands," Edith corrected. Even if she was offended, she couldn't deny that she had been a bit specific. Their job for the day, for Mary and Sybil to try on the dress she had picked out and to then pick out shoes they both liked, would be one of the last tasks needing to be fulfilled until the actual wedding ceremony was to take place in late May. "They're requests."

"Requests," Mary repeated in jest causing Sybil to giggle. "All of which we are to respect you for as Papa will be paying for none of them."

"Well of course, why should he? Anthony has the money and he wants to do this for me."

"You and his older than God mother," Mary commented with another upward glance.

"I'm happy for you, Edith," Sybil said sweetly. "If this is what you want then I want it for you."

"Thank you, Sybil. Good to know one of my sisters is on my side," she said, shooting a glance at Mary. All three sisters erupted into laughter, enjoying the last bit of their tea just as much as the winter sun would allow. Lunch was gone at this point, having disappeared the more the three girls talked and chatted. Mary let Edith and Sybil know about Max's grades and the vacation they would all be taking come April while Max was off from school. Sybil and Edith both smiled at hearing this news, knowing it was well deserved with how hard Matthew had been working lately. Edith discussed who would be walking down the aisle with who and what the menu was to be like at the reception. Of course they did not discuss Sybil, a fact that pleased the youngest Crawley sister. She found that whenever she filled in others on the life she was leading since living in New York, even beyond all of the ballet and city life, she found herself hopelessly discussing Tom, and his work here in London. Sybil knew that Tom had stayed in touch with her family extensively since her departure, perhaps more than she had. It was for this reason, and another, that part of her that reverted to her old self when they were a secret, that had Sybil's lips sealed.

At the dress shop, the three girls were waited on, with tea and biscuits brought in immediately upon their arrival. Sybil leaned into Mary, wondering how they were trusted with such gorgeous gowns lining the walls of the shop which was closed to the public for their afternoon fittings.

"Well they clearly don't know you," Mary whispered over her shoulder. It was true though. Sybil was wondering how she'd make it out of this shop without spilling or making a mess in some way. It was this that led her to neglect the food that was pushed her way after she and her sisters were seated.

"Can we see your dress?" Sybil asked, looking up from her phone. Her and Tom had begun texting on the ride across town, mostly about how cold it was, and how Sybil was wondering what was for dinner that night, practically asking that Tom cook for her. He had yet to respond, but she took his silence as an understated acceptance, hoping he was thinking of something delicious to make her.

"It's being tailored right now, so no," Edith said with a small smile. "Plus, we're here for you two."

"She's made this about us. The dress must be hideous," Mary commented in a whisper. Again, Sybil giggled. "Okay. I'll go first. Save young Sybil the shock. Where is it?"

One of the women working in the dress shop brought out a gown, then several more. "I've narrowed it down to these four," Edith stated simply. This only earned her a look from both Mary and Sybil. "You're to give me your opinions but I think I know which one I want."

"And the color?" Sybil asked. In all honesty though, she was dreading the answer.

"Peach," Edith stated, causing both Mary and Sybil to slouch.

"You're kidding," Mary deadpanned. "With my skin and hair color? You've got to be mad."

"I have to admit, Edith, it may not be the best color with our complexions…"

"I really want Peach," Edith said, unwavering. "I've wanted it since I was little and I still want it now. I don't care if you do not think it looks nice. I'm sure you'll both look lovely in it."

The discussion was over now, with Mary and Sybil both disappearing into fitting rooms to get changed. Sybil tried to remember if she had shaved her legs that morning, and then decided that she had, as a girl that couldn't have been much older than her helped her slide the garment over her head. She wasn't wearing stockings, as she had forgotten to pack them, but even so, her skin would have seemed pale as it always did. As the fitting attendant zipped Sybil up, she commented on how Sybil would need the next size down, and Sybil quirked her eyebrow before accepting this; she must have dropped a size while at school. Last night as she laid out nearly naked for Tom, he didn't seem to mind the weight loss. If he had even noticed it, he said nothing, instead allowing his lips to settle on the outer curve of her breast in appreciation for all she was offering him.

Even with the attendant stepping back to give Sybil time to admire her reflection, Sybil slouched. Despite her dancing background she had the worst posture and the ratio of leg length to abdomen always made dresses like these, which were cut right below the bust line, box her shoulders. Quickly, she snapped a picture on her phone to send to Tom. He responded with a simple "pretty" but the dress she wore was in a sea foam, and not Edith's requested Peach. Sybil wondered if Tom's words would change with the color, or if she had always dreamed, even in the ugliest frocks he would find her beautiful, allowing her to find herself blushing and undeserving of such praise. For as much as both her and Tom always harped on about the length of their friendship having the power to dismiss all critique of their current status as lovers, there was even some things that the time they had loved one another could not compensate for.

"Sybil, come out!" Mary called.

The youngest Crawley girl appeared from behind the plush curtain that guarded her own personal fitting room. She still wore her socks from before, earning an eye roll from Mary as soon as she began to ascend the steps to join her on the platform where she stood. "You're slouching," Mary commented. "And those socks…"

"None of you are prepared to see my feet, trust me," Sybil stated.

"Well we're going to have to try on shoes," Edith chimed in as a reminder.

Sybil rolled her eyes. "Great."

Silence was heard and then Edith sat back, her hands clasped over her mouth to keep her opinion from flying out. "Well, I think they look wonderful," she said, very pleased with her choice.

Sybil looked to Mary then back to herself. Mary's dress was shorter than Sybil's, but that was caused by Mary's height, and not a change in hem. Mary also still had on the heels she was wearing that day, heels that made Sybil queasy just thinking about trying to fit her own feet into something similar. Other than that, the dress fit her sister well, just as all things seemed to. With Mary's proportions, Sybil doubted there was a dress in the pile that wouldn't look nice. With her own hips and arms she found to be rather pudgy, Sybil hoped they could just pick this dress and a pair of shoes to match before heading back home.

"Mary, what do you think?"

"I like this color," Mary said, pointing to Sybil's dress, "better than the Peach."

"I have to agree with Mary. Can't we compromise on this? What about this color? Or a cranberry, perhaps?"

Edith shook her head. "I have no idea what you're talking about. The peach looks lovely! Really, you both look gorgeous!"

Mary slouched. "Edith, this color would look divine on YOU," she emphasized. "But unfortunately we lack the tones you were gifted with. It's washing me out for Christ's sake."

Again, Edith repeated her wishes: "I want the Peach." She sighed. "What do you think of the cut?"

Mary looked to Sybil then back to Edith. "I don't care, really."

"Same," Sybil agreed.

Edith sat up straight and clapped her hands together. "Oh good! This was my favorite! Would you like to see the others or—"

Already Mary picked up her dress and began to move off the platform. "Just show us the shoes."

A salesman brought all three girls and two of the attendants over to another part of the shop devoted entirely to shoes. Edith showed the girls the shoes she would be wearing for the wedding, and then told them she had no ideas for their own shoes and that they could decide between themselves what style to purchase. "Just agree on a pair and we'll have them dyed."

Mary looked up to Edith as she stuffed her foot into one of the heeled pair of shoes. "Oh good. These will be graced with that lovely color as well? My ankles can't wait," she stated expressionlessly. For what could have been the hundredth time that day, Sybil laughed at her sister's antics.

Sybil had chosen a simple pair of flats, in deep contrast to her sister's heels. "Mary, I can't wear those. You know I can't walk in heels…" She tried to explain.

"No, darling, I only know that you have been told you cannot and should not walk in heels. Though, I have to say that you have awful posture without them. I really don't think they could make your stance much worse, Sybil, " Mary said, clearly referring to all the times Sybil had explained to Mary and their own mother how ballet dancers were warned of the dangers of heels. Cora always ignored this as a simple excuse to allow Sybil to wear her most outrageous pair of shoes to one of the family's fundraisers. Mary knew that Sybil would wear what she pleased despite all of that, but she really did think her sister, with legs so defined, would look lovely in a pair of heels. After all, she wore them almost daily, and they gave her a power she craved to let Sybil experience. What she failed to understand was that Sybil had other shoes that gave her power, ones that were just as uncomfortable, but all the more beautiful the more worn and scuffed they were.

Edith was by the wall now, with her arms crossed over her chest. "I actually read an article awhile back, Sybil, that said that's an old myth, and it really doesn't hurt your tendons if you're careful. It also said it was helpful, in a way. I feel like a lot of girls wear them now."

Sybil rolled her eyes. "Well thanks but I won't do it. I can't walk in them, and they hurt my feet. And anyone that says it aids in your relevé is sorely mistaken. One is much prettier and requires much more concentration."

Mary looked to Edith. "Well I'm sorry for being such an animal for liking the way a heel looks. Here," she said, tossing a box of shoes toward her baby sister. "Do Edith and I a favor and try these on, will you?"

Sybil kicked off her flats and reached for the box Mary had handed her. She took off the lid and revealed a simple pump with at least a three inch heel. "If I roll my ankle…"

"I'll call Juilliard myself and send them my sincerest apologies," Mary said and this time, Sybil did not laugh.

Quickly, she put on the shoes and stood up. Balance was not an issue, but the stretching of her tendons was a bit unfamiliar. Her feet, of course, were used to bending and shifting in this way, but at this angle, all of it seemed forced. She walked, one step then several more. Her steps were short, but sufficient, and Mary and Edith smiled as they watched her go.

"Fine," Sybil said. "I'll wear the damn shoes. Are we done?" She was looking at both of her sisters, but the compromise was for Mary.

Edith smiled widely at her two sisters. "Yes. And you two are going to look so great!"

Sybil and Mary quickly changed back into the clothes they arrived in. They were happy for Edith, and they wanted what she wanted, but there was comfort in simple jeans and cardigans they had picked out. For Sybil, there was also comfort in the old sneakers she had worn that day and the scarf she bundled around her neck to hide the mark Tom must have given her at some point the night before. She hoped that come May, Edith would have her day without incident. She'd wear the dress she and Mary hated, and Tom would look dapper in a tuxedo and shined black oxfords. On the way home, she told him about the shoes and then asked him if he had his tuxedo fitting. Tom replied with a laugh she could practically hear through his typing, and then went on about how he and Matthew had planned to do it last minute. Of course they had, she thought before responding, asking him when he'd like to see her. To this he replied: "Whenever" though his words spoke volumes his fingers never would about how much he was already missing her, and how he wished to obtain the same closeness they had carved out for themselves in the dark of his bed on the night before.

* * *

Not much Tom interaction in this chapter, so I'm prepared for all of you to be silent until I post again (I've caught on to your tricks). But it would be lovely if you could prove me wrong (You do know that telling me you dislike something counts as a review as well, right?)! I promise all of this family business is just as important AND the next chapter is quite Sybil/Tom heavy, if that helps.

x. Elle


	24. Timshel

**A/N:** So I thought I was going to be able to put up a chapter of this fic as part of S/T smut weekend, but that was a complete fail. This is of no help to any of you, but I have had a lovely weekend with friends away from the computer, so sorry if this took so long to post. Lots going on in my life lately, but I'm trying to post whenever I can.

Also, I've heard from a few people recently that reviews have been wonky. Either showing up late or not at all. Rule of thumb: I respond to ALL reviews, even brief ones. I even respond to guest reviews via tumblr if you leave your name. Basically if I haven't responded, I didn't get it!

* * *

"And you have your choices  
And these are what make man great  
His ladder to the stars  
But you are not alone in this  
As brothers we will stand and we'll hold your hand  
And I will tell the night  
Whisper, 'Lose your sight'  
But I can't move the mountains for you."  
_Timshel_ - Mumford and Sons

* * *

Even when Tom thought he was being ordinary, something Sybil swore he never did, Sybil listened to him like he was sharing secrets. She'd hold her knees in close to her chest with her chin resting carefully upon them, a shelf that allowed her wavy hair to fall back off her shoulders while her mouth curved into a smile as she just listened to him talk. He had always had big plans, dreams of moving to London and buying himself things much like he did now. When he was ten, or even thirteen, these dreams didn't include her, or at least he never mentioned her name when he spoke of them, but they both knew that she'd be there somehow, hopefully right beside him as she was now.

They sat in the library, with Tom sharing a story of the first time him and Hunter got into a fight over an article. Part of Sybil wished to ask him why he hadn't told her of this before, but she was fascinated now, hearing how respected he had become in such a short period of time. She had always believed in him, and she knew that the minute Hunter accepted his application to intern that he'd be so much more than what she knew he was capable of. It wouldn't be coffee runs and fights with copy machines but long nights spent pouring himself into articles he had only just been assigned. This world was important to him, and because of that, it was important to Sybil, as well; she would do anything she could, here or back in New York, to support him.

"Sybil?" Cora called from her position at the door. Like her daughter and her best friend, she was dressed nicely, in a deep green dress appropriate for the Christmas Eve dinner they were all about to attend.

Unlike past years, Mary requested that the dinner be held at her house. Everyone agreed, with Cora and Robert compromising only if the entire family agreed to spend the night at Downton so they could all attend church in the morning as they usually did. Cora assumed that the location was changing but that tradition would not; she had guessed that Mary wished to host the party but that it would still be privately catered by a chef of Mary and Matthew's choosing. She did not expect, nor did anyone else really, that Mary had planned to cook the entire meal by herself, with the occasional help from her husband and son. She had explained to Sybil that this was important to her, referencing a month back when Max asked her why unlike his friends, she, or even his own grandmother did not cook the holiday meal. What she didn't mention but Sybil heard clearly was how terrified Mary was of all of this. Although Mary did not cook often, she was skilled when she did. The things she made, however, were simple and quick. Not once had she ever tackled a four course meal, fit with appetizers and cocktails. She never had to; there was always someone her parents could pay to do it for her, and now someone her and Matthew would pay, saying they did so to allow them more time with their family.

"Sybil?" Cora called again, this time with more volume. It was this address that caused Sybil and Tom to look to the door, their mouths slightly ajar as they began to wonder how long Cora had been standing there. "I've been calling your name for the past minute or so. Are you ready to go?"

Sybil smiled. "Are Edith and Anthony here?"

Cora nodded. "They're with your father in the foyer. We're all set if you two are."

Tom smiled too. "Of course."

The two teens stood up. With his palm pressed to the small of Sybil's back, he led them both out of the library, following behind Cora to the front hall. The hallways they traveled through and the room they eventually ended up in was decorated lavishly, with Downton's usual Christmas tree extending upward to the second floor. Classic strings of garland lined the staircase leading upstairs, echoing against the modest ornaments and lights that adorned the Christmas tree.

In the foyer, Edith kissed both Tom and Sybil's cheeks. Carson opened the door for the family and invited them outside where a private car was waiting. On the way, Tom and Anthony made small talk about how uncharacteristically warm it was for this time of year. Cora talked to her daughters, doing her best not to reveal the fears she also had about Mary's planned meal. During this time, Robert waited for everyone else to get into the car before joining them. All the while, his eyes were trained on the way Tom helped Sybil up, and how even when he talked to Anthony and Edith, his glance was fixed on her.

When they arrived at Mary and Matthew's house, they were greeted by Max opening the door wide, standing on the step of his family's home with a smile fitting for a child that knew Christmas was near. He hugged and kissed his grandparents before leading everyone from the front room to the kitchen where Mary and Matthew were currently doing their best to put out the meal on time. Their home was decorated similarly to Downton, though Cora would passively comment on the boisterous nature of the lights that wrapped around the staircase. Presents were stacked underneath the tree, some already opened, a fact that made Sybil and Tom smile as Max went on about the gifts his parents had already bestowed upon him. There was a board game, a new skateboard, and a few new video games, the latter which forced Tom to agree to help Max figure out the logistics after dinner.

On the island in the kitchen, appetizers were set out. Mary told the family that the bar in the living room was stocked, before nudging Matthew toward the family, urging him to aid them in getting themselves beverages.

"Get me a glass of wine, will you?" Sybil asked, leaning into Tom. "I'm going to help Mary."

Tom nodded and kissed Sybil's cheek. "Of course."

The family followed Matthew out into the living room. With them gone, Sybil finally heard the holiday music Mary had playing from the radio on the counter, and saw what her sister would not show anyone else. She looked to her sister and sighed, resting against the countertop as she decided where to go next. Without hesitation, Sybil grabbed for a clean apron from the pantry, tying the garment around her waist before standing next to her sister, awaiting instructions. "It smells delicious in here."

"I'm going to fuck this all up," Mary said plainly. Sybil smirked, wishing she could offer more than a smile to mollify her sister's concern. Mary was often blunt, and like the rest of the Crawley girls, she was a constant worrier. It was not the tone that concerned Sybil though, but rather the use of the cuss word, one Mary would often chide Sybil for using.

Sybil touched a reassuring hand to her sister's back. "You're not going to fuck it up. C'mon, I'm serious. These look great," she said, referring to the appetizers. "And like I said, it smells really good. And the kitchen's clean!" she added with enthusiasm that could only made Mary smile.

"Matthew's been great."

"Well that's what the men in our lives are for."

"To clean up our messes?" Mary asked, partially joking, but with a somewhat serious undertone.

Sybil chuckled. "Yes." And then: "Sometimes."

Matthew appeared at the door with Max. "Can I do anything?" he asked. "If not, I'm going to entertain while you finish up."

Sybil looked to Mary then back to Matthew. "We've got it," she beamed. "Hey Maximus, do me a favor and go get my drink from Tom, will you?"

The child nodded and ran off toward the living room with his father. He returned moments later, carrying a wine glass that Sybil thanked him for before quickly taking a sip. "Okay, let's do this."

Sybil proceeded to help Mary prepare, cook, and plate the entire meal only a half hour later than dinner was originally planned for. The energy at the table was much more lively than the food itself, and discussion left Mary to hang her head low, ashamed of her mediocre offering. The family said nothing, but carried on loudly, discussing work and the news, paying little attention to how dry the roast was as they instead divulged in the salad and other side dishes.

During the meal, Sybil and Tom found themselves lost in a conversation about nothing at all. Sybil only separated from him long enough to place a reassuring touch to her sister's hand, assuring her that all was fine, and that she was proud of her for pursuing such a huge undertaking. Mary smiled back at her sister, but only believed her words when she saw how happy Max looked sharing a holiday meal with his family for the first time in his own home. He was an especially picky eater, but he cleared his plate, and Tom and Sybil both wondered if the pride he had for his mother's attempts to make him happy was enough to excuse her culinary faults.

After dinner, the family dispersed. Max dragged Edith, Anthony, and his grandparents upstairs to his room to show them the new game he got for his Playstation. Laughter was heard overhead as Sybil and Mary washed dishes and cleaned up the kitchen. In the upstairs office, Matthew and Tom each nursed glasses of aged Scotch Matthew kept hidden from Mary in the back of his filing cabinet.

"Wait," Tom muttered, his breath already heavy with a bit of liquor. "The Silverman case was closed, right?"

Matthew took another swig of Scotch then set his almost empty glass on his knee. "Almost. Trust me," he said, "you'll read all about this case being closed." Then Matthew chuckled. "Actually, in your case, you may write about it."

"I don't see why this is so controversial. So the family was a bit batshit for a while. The guy's an idiot not to leave a will."

"Well do you have a will?" Matthew countered.

Tom smiled. "I don't have enough shit to have a will," he replied with a laugh. "My dad didn't though and my mam only created hers toward the end because she saw how well that worked out. Really, it's a rich people thing." He paused. "But you and Mary have a will, so…"

"Mary has technically had a will since her birth," Matthew pointed out causing Tom to laugh. "I'm sure Sybil has something similar." Then his tone changed. "But yes, we revised ours recently. Did Sybil tell you?"

Tom nodded. "Barely," he commented.

"It's a smart investment. I mean, yes, you're young but your assets will soon grow. You're doing much better than you give yourself credit for, Tom. You have a car and a bike and you're leasing a flat in a trendy neighborhood in London. It's none of my business but I know your job pays well—"

"It's an internship," Tom corrected.

Matthew furrowed his brow. "You really don't think you'll be hired full time? The man gave you an office and the other people he calls interns get coffee and make copies while you write," he said, doing his best to reason.

Tom shrugged. "Maybe. I don't know. I guess if If Hunter offered it, I'd take it."

"And you'd be set for life," Matthew pointed out before drinking the last of his drink.

"I just don't want to put all of my eggs into one basket." Tom sighed. "I need to see where Sybil's at, what she wants, if she can move in, if she signs to a company…"

Matthew looked up. "I thought she didn't want to sign to a company. I thought she wanted to teach."

Tom chuckled. His cheeks were red from the alcohol, which also made his tongue more slick. Words fell and some shattered, lubricated by Scotch, motivated by the underlying honesty and respect Matthew and Tom had always shared with one another. "She doesn't know what she wants. I mean, she'll say she does, and maybe she really thinks she does, but I don't think she should rule it out. She's good enough. I mean, you've seen her. I don't know how to pronounce even half of the steps but I know that when she moves I can't take my eyes off of her. I think she gets scared sometimes, you know? Like she feels she's already upset her parents by choosing her own way, to then take that a step further and join a company where maybe she'll move away…" Tom's voice trailed off.

Beneath the buzz both he and Matthew wore, there was an understanding between the men, one that was shared because they both had survived in this family for as long as they did. Matthew always considered himself an outsider, and when he and Tom first met, despite his want to know him like a brother, a young Matthew never thought it could be so. As Tom matured, Matthew did too, and he realized that when he and Mary married, despite the age gap that existed between them, the boys were not that far removed from one another.

Their bond had been strengthened since then, made especially apparent in Sybil's moving away, but without discussing it, they both knew that all along they had both been outsiders; there is no other position to be in when entering into a family like that of the Crawley's. It was not just their home and staff that was manicured to perfection, but their daughters as well, brought up to represent all their parents had ever wished for them, just hoping that somewhere along the way Mary, Edith and Sybil would find these things to be dreams of their own. Of course it was never as calculated as they had hoped: Mary forfeited university, Edith made the choice not to have children, and Sybil, still consciously making her decision in contradiction with her parent's wants, was attending school in New York for dance.

Matthew recalled the day a few years ago, when Sybil and Tom were still a secret, that Tom, only sixteen then, made a casual comment about the Crawley's viewing Matthew as a son. Matthew wished to correct him, and he almost had, but he let the moment dissipate instead. It didn't matter what he told Tom, because it was clear that Tom was going to believe whatever he pleased. Maybe, Matthew thought now, it was easier to separate himself from the family. He was free then, to do as he pleased without the judgements. If Tom told himself that he didn't matter to the Crawley's it hurt less when they allowed him to make the decisions he did. What he didn't know, was that all of this was laid out for him in his mother's will, and in several conversations she had with Robert and Cora before her passing. Helen Branson told them to take care of her boy, but to let him be as independent as he always had been. She knew that Tom would ask for help if he ever needed it, but even up until the night of her departure from this world, she was confident that he never would. Robert and Cora never shared this with Tom, but they made it clear they were to grant his mother's wishes by giving him so much freedom: the many jobs, the loft above the garage, and currently his relationship with Sybil and his job in London. They could criticize their daughter for her inactions, but they let Tom believe it was his choice to detach, knowing all along it was more about the respect they had for his mother than anything else. At the end of the day, Tom was not their son, and neither was Matthew. Robert and Cora were the parents of three daughters, all lovely, but all also incredibly different. It was these minds they could comment on and criticize in hopes of fixing; the boys they fell in love with were untouchable.

"Does that scare you? Her moving away?"

Tom thought for a moment. He hadn't even considered the idea of Sybil signing a contract. It was already enough to have her an ocean away for a couple months out of the year. He couldn't imagine having her constantly on tour, this city one day and then gone the next. He knew what he needed, and he knew that would never change, but Tom also knew it was not his decision to make. "I'd be happy for her with whatever she chose."

Matthew smirked. "You'd be fucking devastated. I mean, I would be. Mary went to that parent-teacher association conference in Oxford for a weekend last year and I almost lost my shit."

Tom dropped his head back to chuckle. "We're not married. And I can't have her stay here and teach if that's not what she wanted to do. If she wants to dance professionally then I just need to let her do that. And I need to trust that we're strong enough to make it work." Tom sighed. "All I know is that I could never live with myself if I told her how I felt about it, so there's no sense in having it out. I know that if I told her, she'd stay."

"You don't know that."

"I was offered a job in New York. I almost took it. If she was moving there permanently, I would have…"

"Tom, you two are so young and this relationship is so new. The time apart is healthy. You have years to be together all the time. Maybe a little bit of distance is good."

"People forget she's my best friend and that she's been my best friend since I was five. She was my best friend when I moved here from Ireland after my dad died and she was my best friend when my mam passed and she's still my best friend." Tom paused before looking up. "Does that make sense? It's just weird when she's not here."

Again, Matthew caught himself smirking. "You didn't correct me, you know. When I said that you have years to be together." It was his turn to pause. He did, exhaling softly before continuing: "Is this it?"

Tom finished the last bit of his whisky. "What?"

"You and Sybil. Should I mentally prepare myself for a wedding someday? Perhaps children that will no doubt be a handful?"

Tom smiled, imagining something of the same. He leaned forward to set his empty glass on Matthew's desk, then sat back again. "I don't know what she wants. We take it a day at a time, and I mean, I'd never speak for her," he reassured, "but if you're asking me if I want to spend the rest of my life with her, as her best friend or whatever else, then yeah, I do."

"Okay. Can I say something then?"

Tom laughed again. "Sure."

"I may not be her actual brother, but I did watch Sybil grow up. I mean, technically I watched you grow up too, but I'm protective of her."

Tom created a shade with his hand to cover his eyes. "Go on," he muttered, suddenly dreading what was about to be said.

"I know Robert talked to you, but it's always useless when a father tells you to take care of his daughter. Really, what is he going to do? But you and I are on a more level playing field and I can confidently tell you that I like you, I'd even go as far to say, like a brother. But if you hurt her or fuck her over in anyway—"

Tom emerged from out behind his hand. "Best friends, remember?"

Matthew just smiled and nodded. "I'm serious. She's like my little sister. I don't even want to think of the things that went on when you two used to babysit."

"Whoa!" Tom said, sitting forward. "Who do you think we are? We're respectful!"

Matthew chuckled. "I really don't want to talk about it."

Tom sat back in his chair again. "Fine, but just know, we would never. I mean, Max still doesn't really get that we're dating. That has to count for something."

"He does. He and I had a good chat about it after football the other day. He said he was confused, actually. He knows that Edith and Anthony are dating, but he said with you and Sybil, he didn't really see a change from before."

This too made Tom stop to think. "I guess there really hasn't been. I mean, we had some of the summer, but for the most part, with her in New York, nothing much has changed."

Matthew looked to the window, where for the first time in almost a week, rain failed to appear. "Do you really believe that?"

Back downstairs, Sybil and Mary had accomplished clearing the table. Having brought every plate and platter from the dining room into the kitchen, Sybil began to wash dishes while Mary put all of the leftovers into tupperware. When she went to toss the roast, Sybil stopped her.

"I'm not saving it! It was awful. I want no trace of this left anywhere. I want it thrown in the trash and left for dead."

"I'll eat it!" Sybil said quickly.

Mary rolled her eyes. "Do they not have food in New York? Seriously, Sybil, I know you have an insatiable appetite, but really, let this one go. Have Tom take you out for a nice steak or something. It'll do your bones some good."

Sybil flicked soapy water toward her sister and the two Crawley girls immediately began to laugh. "I do eat!" she defended herself.

Mary stepped into her sister and began to take plates from the drying rack to wipe down with a towel before walking over to the cabinets near the now clean stove to put them away. With the last platter out of the soapy dish water, Sybil pressed "start" on the dishwasher. She then collapsed on the floor of Matthew and Mary's kitchen, with only a small rug to keep her black dress off the floor. She had just wanted to relax for a bit, and she always had a habit, probably one her parents would blame on her dancing, for finding the cold hard floor to be comfortable. What Sybil didn't expect was for Mary to slide down into the space next to her, accepting the floor on her dress as a symbol for more than just the exhaustion she was feeling.

"What will Mama say, seeing you on the floor like this?"

Mary rolled her head to look at Sybil. "She'll ask me if I've gone mad. And I will tell her I have. I hope it will at least afford me a nap."

Sybil chuckled. "You deserve a nap. That was a big undertaking. There's a reason Mama doesn't do it herself."

Mary's eyes were no longer trained on Sybil or the way her hair was curlier than usual, and pulled back, messily with light tendrils framing her face. Momentarily, her eyes scanned down the silver stockings she wore to the green high top sneakers covering her feet, but even that wasn't loud enough to hold her attention. "That's not why Mama doesn't cook. If that were the case, she'd cook every night, but she doesn't." Mary finally looked to Sybil, her eyes almost appearing black, catching on Sybil's, which today seemed to be green. "Have you ever seen Mama prepare a meal?"

"She made Tom and I breakfast once," Sybil recalled with a slight nod. "Do you remember that big snowstorm we had? Well," Sybil rolled her eyes, "looking back it wasn't big at all, but three inches in Downton is blasphemy for a town that rarely receives snow…"

"I remember."

"Yeah, she made us breakfast that day. The whole shebang, toast, eggs, beans, bangers...all of it."

Mary nodded. "She means well, Sybil."

Sybil's eyes grew serious, and suddenly they were less green and more grey. "I don't mind. Mrs. Patmore is a great cook."

"I remember being your age and caring what every single person in the world thought of me and now that I'm a mom, I care about two opinions: my husband's and my son's. Everyone else can eat paint for all I care."

Sybil giggled. "Grandmama says that."

"Well it's true!" Mary defended. "It's the weirdest feeling and I wouldn't trade it for the world, but it's all I want. I want Matthew and Max to be proud of my work as a wife and a mother. I'm not like Mama. I wish I was, but I can't have other people doing the wash and the dinners and the errands. I mean, that's her choice, obviously, but it's not for me."

A silence settled, like a truce agreed to by both Sybil and Mary. The two girls sat much in the way they imagined they had as children, with skinny legs kicked out in front of them while they leaned back, gently crossing their arms across their chests as if to pout. "Granmama also says that."

"Says what?"

"She's constantly telling me to choose my own path. To do what I want. To follow my dreams and not for a second consider what other people think of it."

Mary continued to stare straight ahead. "You were always her favorite."

"And you were Papa's," Sybil said, with eyes that grew cold, despite wearing a warm smile.

"Touché," Mary stated. "But parents don't play favorites. I truly believe that."

Sybil rolled her head against the cabinet to look at her sister once more. "Mary, you told Edith two years ago that the reason you don't want any more kids is because you're afraid you won't be able to love them as much as you love Max."

Mary lurched forward, carrying a heavy, and rather loud laugh with her. She covered her mouth, then released her hand back down into her lap to speak. "Did I really say that?" Sybil nodded. "What a bitch I am."

Sybil smiled. "You're not. At all. It's brave, actually. You know, you may think you haven't made your own decisions, but you really have. You got married quickly, you had Max and you've done a great job with him. If you want one child to spoil, then have one child to spoil. You shouldn't spend your life explaining your choices to other people."

Mary swallowed and looked at her baby sister. "It seems that maybe you should be following your own advice."

Sybil sighed. "You're right," she admitted. "I am absolutely a slave to it all. The minute I got back here I was sucked into it again. But I'm working on it." She exhaled and then: "I'm going to go to mass with Tom in the morning."

"Oh, Sybil…"

"I know. And we're going to spend the night at Tom's tonight before going."

"Sybil, it's Christmas!" Mary tried to reason. "And you promised Mama you and Tom would be at the house with the rest of us."

"We'll be there in the morning for breakfast and gifts," Sybil assured Mary. "But I only have a little bit of time to be home and I want to spend it with Tom."

"Sybil, Christmas is about family."

"And what about Tom's family?" Sybil questioned, her words sounding just as harsh as she had intended for them to. Again though, she exhaled and composed herself. "Sorry," she muttered. "It's true though. He goes to mass every year by himself and for what? For me to sit in a church in the same village, praying to a different version of God to appease my parents?"

Mary looked to Sybil. She sighed. "Can't you at least spend the night at Downton? Mama and Papa are going to throw a fit. Tomorrow is Christmas," she tried again.

Sybil avoided Mary's glance, using the time to pick at her nail polish and straighten out her stockings. "I'm going with Tom. He deserves the company and he would deserve it even if we weren't together. I don't want Mama and Papa to think this is about choosing Tom or anything, but…" No words followed that thought because Sybil had none. It was merely something she said to please and silence her sister.

Mary accepted it as best as she could, but could not maintain the quiet without first getting in the last word. "I get it. They won't, of course, but I do. But if you think this isn't about choosing Tom over them...god, Sybil, this is what this has always been about. Since the minute you told them about you two back at the hospital, it became so clear." Heavily, she exhaled. "You chose Tom a long time ago."

~!~

It didn't go well, of course. Sybil pulled her mother and father aside just as everyone was getting ready to head out of the city and back to Downton. She told them of her plans and made no apologies about her wording when she relayed to them how she'd be spending the night at Tom's for privacy. Her father's face turned red in rage and her mother's eyes widened, but she gave them no time for rebuttal. Instead, she hugged and kissed everyone and told them all she and Tom would see them the following morning. Somehow it was Max who understood best, giving Sybil a hug after she had kissed Mary's cheek in appreciation for hosting. As they walked down the steps of Mary and Matthew's home and out into the chilly London night, Sybil leaned into Tom. Her lips sought out his cheek as her arms reached up to grab his arm to steady their walking. Tom kept silent through most of the discussion held just moments ago, but he knew, just as well as Sybil did, that her words were strong because of him. Robert and Cora only accepted them because it was almost Christmas and they knew their own opinions would hold no extra weight regardless of the holiday.

Approaching Tom's building, Sybil grabbed the keys from him and raced ahead to open the door. She left the door ajar so Tom could run after her, up the stairs and to his flat where it was his job to slam the door shut behind him as he watched her dart into the bedroom. She was sitting on the chest at the foot of his bed, taking off her shoes. Tom swooped her up and began attacking her neck, his hands naturally going to seek out the skin she hid away from him beneath her dress. He told her that afternoon how gorgeous she looked, and stared at her while she read a book, deciding that no words existed to allow him to truly tell her how he felt when she was around.

On the bed now, Tom's weight pressed into Sybil. A certain part of his anatomy was already much more apparent than usual and she smiled, wondering just how much he had to drink with Matthew. Of course she had smelled it on his breath when they stole a quick moment on the staircase back at Mary and Matthew's place. In a way, it intoxicated her as well, and for this reason, she made no comment on it. Tom was free to do as he pleased and she trusted that between the two of them, he and Matthew would never let themselves be truly tossed. Like the silent agreement they had come to acknowledge, they both had a duty to be themselves, independent of one another, just so as long as when they reunited, their love was not disturbed. A tricky game, perhaps, but one they were finding they were quite good at, especially now, as Tom ground into Sybil, causing her hips to push back up into him, rejecting his advances but needing him close all the same.

Somehow they eventually separated and Sybil casually took off her dress and stockings and asked Tom if he had a shirt she could borrow to sleep in. He threw her one before getting changed himself, and she laughed at his flannel pajama bottoms as they walked through the partition and out into the living room.

While Tom turned on the electric woodstove, Sybil grabbed the blanket from the back of the couch and laid it down on the floor. She then scurried toward the entertainment center to grab the gifts she had placed there the morning before when Tom was still at work. Watching her, Tom smiled at her actions and laughed as she sat down with her legs crossed over one another, patiently waiting for him to grab her gifts so they could begin their tradition.

This one was only a few years old. It did not start after Tom's mother passed, but actually coincided with the year they had begun to be intimate. Looking back now that was a fact that made Sybil blush and she wondered if Tom thought about it too, calculating if it meant more with that behind it. The first year, when they were sixteen, they had waited for everyone to go to bed before quietly going down to the kitchen to share a pot of tea and the gifts they had purchased for one another. The next year, it took place in Sybil's bedroom, ending in one of the slowest nights of lovemaking either teen had ever experienced. Last year was down in the library, where Sybil and Tom fell asleep, wrapped up in one another on the couch by the fireplace where Robert and Cora found them the next morning. It was silly, really. They never gave one another gifts that couldn't be opened in front of everyone else and yet there seemed to be something disrespectful about letting others see the thought they put into each present. It was as if revealing this part of them would have revealed their secret, one that was now forever lost leaving bits of them, tiny bits, to crave it back again.

Tom finally joined Sybil, but only after he had poured them each a cup of tea and prepared hers just how she liked it. Save for one thing, he wanted this night to be a combination of all of the others.

"Here," she said, looking up to him as soon as he was settled down on the blanket. "You go first."

Tom smiled and took the wrapped gift she had handed his way. It wasn't particularly large or heavy. He shook it and Sybil giggled, admiring his childlike nature. Sybil also admired the way he did little damage to the wrapping paper surrounding the box, when she knew that in a few moments when she opened her gifts, the paper would be in several different pieces, all crumpled up and thrown over her shoulder as her eyes feasted on what was hidden beneath.

Tom stared at the box. Like a shoebox, but with no brand name written across the recycled cardboard. "What is it?"

Sybil nudged at him. "Open it, silly!"

He leaned forward and took the top off the box, revealing beneath it, folded tissue paper. That too was peeled back to reveal an exquisite pair of men's dress shoes. Tom looked to Sybil then back down to the shoes. He took one out of the box and held it in his hand, noting the deep brown leather in which the brogue shoe was made, as well as the derby stitching and the soft leather laces. "Syb, these look expensive."

Sybil slouched. "Do you not like them?"

Tom reached out for the back of Sybil's neck, pulling her in close so he could kiss her lips. "No, love, I really like them, you just didn't have to…"

"I wanted to," Sybil assured him. "And if you're going to be successful, and I know you are," she added, "you can't be wearing sneakers to the office."

Tom smirked. He looked up from the shoe he was still holding, back to Sybil. "You used to tell me you thought my shoes were hot."

Sybil blushed. "Yes, well, they are. And they still can be…" her voice trailed off. "When you come visit me in New York. But until then, don't you think these are nice? I just thought…"

"Syb, they're great. Thank you, love."

"And this," she said, offering up another present. "Not as fun as the shoes, but useful I think."

This box was bigger, considerably bigger, but it still fit comfortably in between Tom's large hands. "What's this?"

Sybil put her hands on her hips and stuck out her bottom lip. "Tom Branson, just open the gift!"

Never one to disappoint, especially Sybil, he began to unwrap the gift, this time with an urgency not given to the box of shoes. Sybil grabbed for the paper he discarded and crumpled it in her hands as she watched him pull at the tape of yet another cardboard box.

Inside the box was a black motorcycle helmet. Simple, shiny and with a smooth clean finish. Tom was beaming as he turned it over, inspecting the padding inside, and the optional shade and tight strap. It was much like the one he had before his accident, the same accident that led to Sybil telling him she wished he wouldn't ride anymore. Now here she was, giving him a gift that not only granted him this privilege, but gave him her blessing as well. His old helmet, however, was purchased at auction for half the price of what it was actually worth.

"Syb, this is great. Like, really great."

"My dad told me your bike was done. He told me you rode it out around Downton before the winter got bad. I know you want to ride again and it got me thinking about what I said to you, after your accident," she said, her voice somehow sounding weak. Tom wished to reach out and touch her, to kiss her cheek or her forehead and then maybe her lips, and tell her how much this meant to him. Not just the helmet, but the symbolism behind it and the strength he knew was required to purchase it for him. "I'm sorry. I know you got the bike and you were so excited and I didn't get it then and I don't get it now, but I realized that it's not my place to tell you what you can and can't do. It scares me, sure, and I won't apologize for that, but I can't keep you from riding or doing anything for that matter. And I don't want to!" she defended with a small laugh. "I just want you to be safe because I can't have anything happening to you. I'd lose my mind if anything ever happened to you again."

"Are you going to cry?"

Sybil sat up straight. With eyes wide she threw a wad of crumpled up wrapping paper at Tom. He turned away to deflect it, but as he turned back, his laughing on spurred Sybil on. "Don't be mean. If you're asking if it makes me sad, then yes it does."

Tom's eyes dropped and he pursed his lips. "Why do you think about those things? It's not going to keep them from happening."

"I don't know. I can't help it. You weren't there! You didn't see how still you looked. It was all I thought about that night. And the day that followed," she added.

"Well don't. I don't think about losing you." Sybil dropped her head as if to urge him to continue. "Though I'm sure if I did, I'd lose it. Actually," he began, "I know I would. You know, I've lost my mam and my dad, but it never gets easier."

"So basically," Sybil said, crawling toward Tom to sit on his lap. She reached up to caress his cheek before leaning in to kiss him. "What you're saying is that I'm not allowed to go anywhere."

Tom nodded, still staring at her lips. "Exactly," he smiled before capturing her mouth against his again in a slow and sweet kiss.

"Maybe I'll just stay here. Drop out of school. Eat junk food and watch trashy television while you're at work and then when you come home we can play house."

Tom raised his eyebrows and chuckled. "What kind of house?"

"You know," Sybil teased with both her words and now her hips. "House," she repeated. He growled and she nodded, both deciding that words were no longer necessary. They stopped only when Tom felt Sybil's weight rest fully upon him. He detached and she allowed it, knowing he was doing it for them and not to spite her. When they were completely apart, sitting across from one another again, Sybil felt guilty, wondering how many times her and Tom would be led to that same place only to have to run right back. Even if he instigated it, she would believe it was all her fault, just as she knew that it was her fault they were waiting.

"Okay," Tom composed himself. "Here," he offered. "These are shite now, but…"

Sybil reached out to grab the bag Tom offered her. It was small with green tissue paper sticking out at the top. It mimicked the boxes she had given Tom and was made of a simple card stock material. Sybil had once commented on the excessive use of glitter and bows in holiday wrapping. Like the other tirades Sybil made at fourteen years old, Tom rolled his eyes, but now, upon seeing this gift bag, she wondered what else he remembered.

Like she had always failed to do in past years, Sybil took her time untying the ribbon keeping the bag handles together. Once inside, her small hand reached for the paper and peeled back what she could without ruining the way it was folded, to carefully hide away the two gifts inside. One was a card, sealed with a simple gold sticker, and the other, a small silver box. Sybil smiled and looked to Tom. As was typical of her nature, she saved the card for last, and slowly took the top off the silver box. "Oh, Tom, it's beautiful."

Tom smiled. "I said, it's shite now compared to what you got me, but do you know what it is?"

Sybil took the bracelet out of the box and immediately held it to her wrist so she could wear it. With the clasp locked, she looked back to Tom. "No idea," she said with a laugh.

Tom chuckled too. "You know that story I was telling you I covered about the female slave trade in Cambodia and you just kept saying how you wished you could do something for them?" Sybil nodded. "Well I did some research, and it's not much, but women that are in recovery, usually those that have grown up in the sex industry, make these bracelets and sell them to sustain an income for their families…"

Sybil beamed. The bracelet on her wrist was simple, made of fine red thread with a simple gold clasp. "It's beautiful," she whispered.

"I was really lost on what to get you this Christmas…" Tom began, rather apologetically.

"Tom, stop it."

"And last Christmas you went on about how I spent too much on those boots you wanted and you said I would have been better off donating the money."

Sybil smiled. She couldn't help it. "I did."

"Well I thought this was a start. And I know you hate jewelry as a gift, but I thought—"

"You thought right. It's lovely." Sybil placed a small kiss to the corner of Tom's mouth before sitting back on her feet. She started on the card, her once manicured finger slipping below the seal to open the envelope. Inside, a simple note on paper from Tom, and with it, a folded up piece of printer paper. The note read:

Because you'd never do it on your own - Tom

Sybil looked to Tom with eyes wide like a child. She wanted to inquire and ask, but her fingers ignored that urge and slowly unfolded the piece of paper. On it, very clearly, were words that indicated that Tom had signed up and paid for Sybil to take drawing classes at a local university when she was home for the summer.

"Tom," she began, unable to say much else.

"I know you mentioned once that you'd like someone to look at your drawings and I agree. I also called Miss Ellie to see what your schedule would be like so I found a morning class that will work around your dancing."

She said nothing, but leaped forward, practically tackling Tom to the blanket below in a strong embrace. Loudly, her lips smacked against his cheek, kissing his stubbled skin before returning her glance to his own. "I love it," she muttered. "So much." Another kiss and then: "And I love you."

"So much?"

"So much."

"I have another gift. Well, it's selfish really, but I wanted to tell you first," Tom said, referring to the lie he had told Matthew earlier.

Sybil straightened herself out and propped her head up on her hand, doing her best in this state to devote all of her attention to Tom. "Okay," she said hesitantly.

"Hunter offered me a promotion."

Sybil's jaw dropped. "A promotion? Like a job? He wants you to work for him?"

"Yep," Tom said confidently. "Full time writer. Benefits and a salary and all of that."

"And you'll take it right?"

Tom nodded. "I think so, what do you think?"

"Are you kidding me?" Sybil bellowed. "Yes! You have to! Isn't this what you wanted?"

Tom chuckled. "Yeah, love, it is. I just wanted to make sure it was okay with you. I know it's a lot and I'll be working a lot and we still don't know where you'll be come the summer."

"Yes we do!" Sybil corrected lightheartedly. "I'll be working at the new studio and taking art classes in the morning."

A sly smile played its way across Tom's cheeks and he nodded. "So I should do it then? Accept the offer?"

"Is it a fair offer?"

"More than I deserve," Tom admitted.

Sybil smiled before kissing Tom. "Yes. Without question, you should take the offer." And then: "I am so so proud of you, Tom. If you ask me again if I'm going to cry the answer is: yes, I just might. I can't tell you how happy I am to call you my best friend and boyfriend. I want these things for you and I am so lucky you've allowed me to share in your life with you."

Tom kissed Sybil's forehead. "And me in yours, Syb."

The two curled up with several more similar declarations shared between them. Even with the closeness and the heat from the stove, they managed to sleep much in the way they would have several years ago, before traditions and fears had them keeping secrets. There was nothing to apologize for that following morning when Sybil accompanied Tom to mass. In fact, and she told him this rather proudly, it was the most peaceful she had felt in quite some time.

* * *

I hope Mary's conversation with Sybil gives all of you a bit of an insight into why Robert and Cora are the way they are. At least, that was my hope. And what did we think of the gifts and Tom's chat with Matthew? Thoughts, comments, and critiques would be wonderful!

x. Elle


	25. I'll Be There

**A/N:** Sorry this took so long! My sister had a baby this past week and I was busy with that. Anyway, thank you for your patience!

This is the last "dance heavy" chapter. I know this is a relief for some of you, so you're welcome!

Enjoy! And please, please, please review!

* * *

"Our jobs are taking over  
The world's become so hard  
We will learn as we grow older  
We're stronger than they are.  
It's gonna be a long hard ride  
But I'll be there.  
Just love me forever..."  
_I'll Be There_ - Brighten

* * *

Tom was right. Sybil thought he was overworked before, but with his promotion, they didn't speak as much, and Sybil used this as an excuse to convince herself that she needed the time to practice. They never went a day without speaking, and the texting continued but often ended with one word answers. Both of them attempted ways to pick the conversation back up, but it usually was left to die while Tom worked to meet a deadline and Sybil raced off to meet Colin for their one meal a day before rehearsal that night.

They were fighting more often. It wasn't a choice they made or didn't make, but really just something that seemed to happen; stupid little fights that reminded them of spats they used to have when they were both taking their A-level exams. The next morning they would apologize to one another, not making specific comments on the particulars of each argument, because as they would never admit, it was rare they remembered what started the disagreements in the first place.

Sybil found that second semester at Juilliard was much different than the first. Having already acclimated to life in the city, her new classmates, and her rehearsal schedule, she found that things moved much more quickly. The classes she took in the beginning of the year, those on history and music, were replaced, with much more time devoted to the end of the year showcase. Whereas last semester she had a write up due at least once a week, at this point, she had only been back a month and a half, and had only typed and printed two papers. Currently she was working on her third, a short three-page review of a show she saw at the Met the past week.

The criticism she received from her instructors had died down, but the push to sign to a company, or really, to do something more than return to London to teach, was heavily emphasized. Sybil figured this occurred because of the time she spent with Colin. Though the other students judged him for his indifference to certain companies, presumably only those companies that wanted him, the instructors were quite lenient. Miss LoTempo had a special soft spot for the male dancer, and Sybil wondered if she had lightened up only after discovering the two were dancing together.

Currently, she sat against the mirror in one of the main practice rooms, waiting for two of her classmates to wrap up their rehearsal. Normally she'd be a bit agitated by them not being out of the room by the time she had it signed out, but she used the time they still needed to text Tom and as she waited for a response, she stretched.

As all of their conversations lately seemed to be, Sybil and Tom texted back and forth to one another, never saying "I'm sorry" but using words that apologized for how stressed and therefore irritable they both had been lately. Sybil asked him how his day was going and then asked what article he was currently working on as well as the outcome of an article he had submitting for publication just two days before. As usual, he gave her trite answers, and she responded in kind, changing the subject instead of prodding further.

They were tired, of course. It was a type of exhaustion that chilled the bones, even as Spring began to settle in, bringing with it heavy rain in London, and in Sybil's case: bright white sheets of snow. They slept less than they did before, though neither could contribute it to their work schedules or their deep longing for the other to be near. Tom figured it was both, and though he'd never tell Sybil how much he missed her this time around, he knew she agreed.

Maybe it was because he didn't visit her the way he had first semester, or maybe it was due to the fact that the months were colder and they had spent almost all of Sybil's break in bed, pressed tightly to one another with the fire burning brightly, painting their skin amber. Though she'd never tell Tom, Sybil craved him, and wondered for the first time why it was that she ever told him they should wait. It wasn't the ecstasy she missed, or the way he looked at and whispered to her while sheathed inside of her, but instead the comfort it brought, both before and especially after, when they lay vulnerable and naked, wrapped up in sheets, sharing kisses and caressing skin until they both fell asleep.

Even so, Sybil did her best to remain strong. She told herself that even when he was there with her parents for her showcase, just a day before they'd return home for a summer together, she'd wait. Like many other words exchanged between themselves, it was a promise she'd keep: a silent "I love you".

Sybil slipped into her split sole shoes and grabbed her laptop from her bag. She used the rest of the time waiting for the girls to finish their routine to check her email and update her Facebook. Really, she had no idea why she used the social networking site, as she rarely updated it. It was only when she went away to school that her old classmates began to friend her, wondering now that she was with Tom and attending school in New York, if her life was worth watching. Mary also used it to quickly contact Sybil, rolling her eyes when her baby sister reminded her of her maturity and insisted she just text or email her instead.

"Sybil, do you mind if we just run this one more time?" Cassandra asked. She was dancing with two other girls that Sybil knew due to the small class size at Juilliard, but girls she rarely interacted with. She sometimes felt out of place for specializing in pointe work. Juilliard had definitely broadened her horizons and expanded her capabilities in areas like jazz and lyrical, the latter of which was her favorite. Still, she felt limited. While all of these students had long ago opened themselves up to many different types of movement, Sybil felt stuck in the same rigid gliding and leaping she was taught as a young girl.

Sybil glanced up from her laptop and smiled. "Sure. I have the room for the rest of the night so I'm not really in a rush."

The girls continued to dance, moving about in a way that almost made Sybil jealous. She could admire modern dance, but would never understand how the same things she was taught to avoid in ballet were suddenly glorified. Finishing her emails she closed her laptop and grabbed for her phone. Touching the home screen button, the backlight went on, signaling that she had no new messages. Feeling defeated, Sybil grabbed for the bag of snacks she had packed for herself that morning. As she watched the girls in front of her move about, she sucked then chewed on a gummy bear, wondering what it was that Tom found so appealing about the small chewy candy.

"Can you watch this and tell us what you think?"

Sybil looked up, her eyes catching on Grace, a sophomore with a body much smaller than her own. She nodded, only after realizing her classmates were talking to her. "Sure."

The first time the girls ran through their routine, Sybil barely paid attention. Instead, she wondered why it was that everyone was so quick to work together, when her body just yearned to move in its own space. Miss LoTempo would swear that it was a trust thing, and Sybil did her best to work on this with Colin. Even so, she didn't prefer it over her solo work. She didn't belong in a corps setting, but she wanted to, if it at least meant fitting in.

As the girls worked through their dance the second time, Sybil counted how many beats one of the girls was off from the other. She told them to be more confident in their steps and she told Cassandra, maybe because she knew her the best, that one of the steps didn't seem to flow.

Cassandra stood with her hand on her hip, her body naturally trying to steady its breathing. "What do you mean?"

"What about instead a double time step you do an LA time step?"

Cassandra looked to the girls she was dancing with then back to Sybil. "Um, I'm sorry, since when do you know tap?"

Sybil laughed. "I don't. At all. And I look ridiculous doing it—"

"You've worn tap shoes?" One of the girls practically yelled, causing everyone to chuckle as they realized she was only voicing what the rest of them were thinking. Sybil smiled too, thinking how ridiculous it must seem to picture a ballerina in tap shoes, her feet flat against the ground, creating noisy movement against a hard stage. It seemed foreign to them, but somehow familiar to Sybil.

"Only once," she said. "My mum never let me continue. She let me try it, but she thinks it's a waste of time."

"It's still dancing," Grace offered. "That's so odd though. I can't even imagine."

"I wasn't very good, if it helps," Sybil said, hoping that somehow revealing a fault would make the girls like her more. It was a tactic she resorted too, one that both comforted and pained Sybil. She wondered if she'd always have to reveal these parts of herself openly to have others accept her. Then, she thought of Tom, knowing that with him that was never the case. It was these parts that she made excuses for, her ugly parts, he'd say, that made him love her all the same. And she didn't reveal them, but instead he sought them out, adoring her insecurities and resenting all that the world thought made her perfect.

"It's not much different, actually," Cassandra tried. "We still utilize a turn out."

"I think it's the feeling. I didn't feel anything when I danced it. I felt sloppy, like I wasn't in control."

The girls got silent, deciding it was best not to correct Sybil and mention how just moments ago she said it was her mother's decision not to allow her daughter to tap dance. In the quiet, they moved to where Sybil was sitting and began to take off their shoes.

Cassandra didn't turn to Sybil, but as she packed her bag she spoke, prodding in the way that teenage girls casually do. "How's it going with Colin?"

"Fine," Sybil said curtly. She knew exactly what the girls were getting at, and suddenly she wanted no part of it.

"Have you slept with him yet?" Grace asked, causing the other girls to stare at her.

"No," Sybil brushed off with a laugh. "He's just my dance partner and I have a boyfriend," she reminded.

"Nikki had a boyfriend when she first got here too," Cassandra said, causing everyone except for Sybil to smirk. "It's fine.I was just curious. I think you've set a standard. He's slept with half the girls here. Even some in the music department," she explained.

Sybil was done stretching now and used the accomplishment to push her away from the girls that seemed to believe they knew so much. She stood, and began to walk toward the center of the room. "Well not this girl. I have no interest in him like that and I'm pretty sure he feels the same way."

"I was just curious," Grace said, her voice doing its best to apologize. "I admire your dedication. I'd have him in a heartbeat."

"He likes Nikki," Sybil blurted out, suddenly wishing she hadn't. This was something Colin had never quite said to her, but she knew it to be true. She also knew that Nikki returned the same feelings, but like Sybil, had a hard time being honest with herself. "I mean, I think he does."

"Right," Cassandra said. She and the rest of the girls stood up and walked for the door. As they approached, Colin was entering, walking straight for the barre to set down his bag and put on his shoes. He nodded and smiled at all of the girls, throwing a simple "ladies" their way.

"Will you ever make friends?" he said, doing his best to lighten the mood.

Sybil was back on the ground now, her legs spread apart in a split while her body stretched fully to one side before extending back to the other. When she sat up, she did not smile, showing Colin she wanted none of his humor today and would prefer to just work. Some days were like this, while other days were a bit better. Still, Colin wished that Sybil would trust him, not because he needed it, but because she did. If they were to dance a pas de deux and he was to act as her third leg, she needed to let him in.

When they were both warmed up, Colin walked to the stereo on the far side of the room and plugged in his iPod. Music began to play, music that caused Sybil to lift her head in question. "Beyonce?" She asked.

"I like the classical stuff," Colin deadpanned. "C'mon," he said, extending his hand. "Dance with me."

"I'm not dancing to this," Sybil said, her arms now crossed stiffly across her chest. "I can't."

Colin furrowed a brow and looked around. "You know this is Juilliard right? We dance here. It's kind of our thing."

Sybil sighed, throwing down her fists in frustration. "I'm not dancing with you," she pouted. "Let's just rehearse, okay?"

Colin was already casually moving to the beat, snapping and bopping his head, an action that would have made Sybil laugh if she wasn't so tense. "Just keep the beat with me, okay?"

Sybil still did not move. "What does this have to do with the showcase?" She exhaled. "We're wasting time!"

Colin shook his head, all the while continuing to move. "If you want to gain control, Sybil, you first have to lose control."

Sybil watched him, her eyes scanning up his legs, to the tight shorts he wore and the simple t-shirt. She rolled her eyes, still refusing to move. "I have control."

"Well don't you trust me?"

"Yes."

Colin grabbed Sybil's hand and pulled her into him. "No you don't," he sing-songed. "If you trusted me, you'd dance with me."

"I don't know how to dance to this kind of music!"

It was this statement that made Colin stop. Even if he wanted to, his body couldn't move with Sybil standing so still. His shoulders dropped and he turned back to the stereo to turn the music down. "Don't you ever dance with Tom?"

Sybil shook her head. "He's an awful dancer."

"So. He's your best friend right? You've never been absolutely silly together and just danced?" Sybil shook her head. "What about jumped on a bed?"

"My parents wouldn't allow it," Sybil explained.

"What about when you fuck? That's a movement."

Sybil went to slap Colin. She didn't have time to think better of it, her hand was already winding up, about to make contact with his face. He stopped her though, grabbing a firm hold on her wrist. The action shocked Sybil, and her eyes widened as Colin used the control he now had over her to dip her body, supporting her weight despite her protests for him not to.

It was all too graceful, and it had Sybil breathing heavily as she stared up at him, their faces just inches apart while she did her best to register what had just happened. Her body moved despite her telling it not to, and now she was in his grip, like a doll just waiting to be manipulated.

Quickly, he helped her to stand back up. Again, she landed gracefully, and Colin let go, allowing Sybil to turn her back to him so she could compose herself.

"It's none of my business," he explained. "And I'm sorry for what I said. But you really need to trust me. You need to let me move you and you need to trust that when I lift you, I won't let you fall."

Sybil turned back to Colin, snapping her neck in his direction. "That was fucked up," she muttered. "You're fucked up."

Colin chuckled. "It got you to move, didn't it?"

She ran toward him, hoping to push him back and call him a jerk, but when she reached her arms out, he grabbed her waist and hoisted her high above his head. Her body had no choice but to straighten out and appear light, just as she had always been taught. Sybil wished to protest, to kick down her feet and push him away, but even this felt natural and for the first time she realized what he was doing.

"Put your hands on my shoulders," Colin instructed, and quickly, Sybil obeyed. He smiled. "Grand ecart."

Sybil looked down to him. Already her arms were beginning to shake. "You're going to drop me," she stated simply. "And then I will murder you."

"Yeah, that'll go over well," Colin deadpanned. "C'mon, Sybil. I would like to get to your dance at some point."

Sybil followed his instructions, but only so she could soon be put back on the ground again. That was where her comfort and her strength lied, never in the hands of another person, especially with Colin. Stubbornly, Colin pushed Sybil into pirouettes, several fish lifts, and more catches, one in particular that mimicked a move Sybil had witnessed when she sat in on a ballroom dancing class last week.

"Can I change into my pointe shoes now?"

Colin chuckled. "I'm not your keeper," he said, sipping from his water bottle. "And this is your dance," he reminded.

Sybil laughed as she too walked to her bag to grab her Nalgene bottle. "Is it? You seem to be doing a good job of giving me no say."

"Then fight back."

Sybil looked to Colin. "I'm not fighting you! This is my dance! I asked you to be in it!"

"Fine," Colin sighed. "I'll go then."

Sybil watched as he made a beeline for his studio bag. Before he could even bend down to grab his things, Sybil stopped him.

"Wait!" she called out, watching him turn around. She needed him. This wasn't about Colin or what her instructors had always told her. This was Sybil's own selfishness, and her need to constantly follow through. "Why are you doing this? Why do you care?"

"I care," Colin said, stepping into Sybil, "because you're talented, and you deserve to do more with your dancing than teach at a small studio in London."

Sybil stepped back into Colin. "Why is everyone making it seem like that is the worst thing I could be doing with my time?"

"You're settling." He quirked an eyebrow. "You're settling because of Tom."

"Fuck you," she spat, her arms now crossed over her chest.

"Does that bother you?"

She pushed him, and this time he let her. It was an odd dance they began to do, with Sybil moving forward and Colin taking one step back. There was rhythm and precision, and all the emotion Colin had always needed from Sybil. If only she let him hold and support her the way she needed.

"Yes, it bothers me! You don't know what you're talking about."

"Fine. Prove me wrong. I talked to Miss LoTempo and she wants to set up a meeting with you and SAB," Colin said confidently, referring to the School of American Ballet, a company associated with Juilliard and located just a building or two away from the one they were dancing inside.

Sybil's breathing became short. She was flustered, but doing her best to maintain control. Though they didn't move, this was no different than dancing really. "Why would you do that?"

"They'd hire you to teach there when you finished your degree. Maybe sooner."

"I don't want to teach there! Why are you being such an ass today? Let it go!"

"I won't let it go. You're wasting your talent. You don't try new things. Why are you even here, Sybil?"

"I'm here because there were people back home telling me who to be and how to live my life. People doing the same thing you're doing now. I'm here because I had someone I love tell me they believed in me and somehow all of this finally seemed possible. I'm here because I love to dance, but don't you dare act as if any of this is your business. It's not, alright? You have no right! If I love to dance, and I do," she yelled, her teeth gritting, "I'm going to do it where and when and however I please. I asked you to partner me because I thought it would be fun. But if you're going to be my partner, you need to cut the bullshit. Support me when I need it, but don't give me crap. I get enough of it from the rest of them."

"That's a start," Colin chuckled.

"This isn't a game, Colin!"

"Okay, I'm sorry."

"No, you're not," she spat, turning back to her bag.

Colin's shoulders dropped as he watched her go. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going home. Rehearsal's over."

She picked up her things and ran out of the room, all the way down the hallway, then down the four flights of stairs leading out into the city street. She hadn't seen this time of day in awhile, and with it being almost seven, the crowd outside the Metropolitan Opera was growing, with patrons and fans bundled in cashmeres and minks, waiting for the doors to open. Sybil ran past all of this, heading hurriedly for her dorm, just a block away. Once inside, she swiped her card and dashed into the elevator, thanking a God above that it was empty. The entire building seemed to be quiet, and Sybil wondered if she'd still be crying this hard if there were people around. With each tear she wiped away though, she realized that she couldn't control these emotions. They were things she had thought and felt for quite some time now, but for some reason had not voiced. Now, they spilled down her cheeks, painting her skin, highlighting the exhaustion written across her features.

When she did her phone interview with Miss LoTempo and a Juilliard alumna, Sybil explained to them how she had not done much partner work. When they asked her why, she told them about the size of her company at home and how there were no boys her age to dance with. What she didn't tell them was that she yearned to perform a pas de deux and that she understood, if anything, the intimacy and trust that came with having a partner in ballet. She knew this, of course, because she had Tom.

As she told Colin, he was a lousy dancer, but their was something about their movement when they were together that was so rhythmic and beautiful. She thought he was wonderful, but he knew when to step back and give her the spotlight. He trusted her to make her own decisions, to jump and leap when she pleased, knowing that if she needed, he'd be there to catch her. The grip he often had on her midsection was strong and steady and full of love. There was trust between them, trust and love and comfort she doubted she could ever find with Colin or any other male dancer.

As she reached her suite, Sybil pushed inside, immediately running to her room to plug in her already dying phone. While it began to charge, she continued to sob, doing so even when she went to use the restroom, and on her way back to her room after grabbing a water bottle from the fridge in the lounge.

She didn't think. Her fingers moved quickly against the screen of her phone, dialing his number. He answered, his voice sounding sleepy, but alert, dripping with a worry that only she could bring about by calling him in the middle of the night.

"Hi."

"Syb? What's wrong?"

Sybil shook her head. "I don't know," she sighed.

Tom sat up in bed and reached to his bedside table to turn on the lamp there. The covers that had just covered his body now pooled at his waist. "Hey, you okay?"

Sybil shook her head. Immediately she brought up a hand to shade her eyes, covering the tears that were again beginning to fall as she gave into the pain. "No."

Tom also rubbed at his head, doing his best to wipe the exhaustion from his eyes to make himself more alert for her. "What's wrong?"

"I had rehearsal with Colin tonight."

"How was that?"

"Great. I had a good time." She wasn't lying, but she also wasn't telling the entire truth. The run she had taken from the studio back to her dorm had cleared her mind and provided clarity to all that she had said and all that was said to her by a boy who was supposed to be her dance partner. Maybe he was right, she thought, wondering at the same time how to even process all he had offered.

"Syb, what's going on?"

"I walked out on him," she casually explained. "I freaked out."

Tom looked to his alarm clock. It blinked 1:57am before turning quickly to 1:58. "Why did you freak out?"

"Because he had a point. Because—" She stopped and her tone changed. "I don't want to laugh with him. I want—"

Tom sighed. "I want you too," he finished for her. "But you can't stop me from keeping you happy."

Sybil shook her head, and with it, brushed off the notion that Tom was implying. "He doesn't make me happy. He's infuriating. It felt so wrong."

"Why? Because he held you? Because for once it wasn't me?"

"Tom, please stop. It's not like that."

But it was. From the time Sybil was eleven, like all teenage girls, she fawned over the love stories and the chemistry that existed between a prima ballerina and her partner. Fascinating really, how even without a connection to begin with, one was seemingly born in the span of a dance, over the course of an entire act or even the length of a full show. She found herself rooting for certain dancers, her favorites, to fall in love with their partners; how could you not fall in love with someone who supported you so fully and constantly made it their job to present you at your best?

What Sybil failed to realize was that not all dancers fall in love with their partners, just like not all girls fall in love with their best friends.

"I know that. But you don't. It's like you can't separate the two, Syb. This is what you wanted. Juilliard and New York and all of it. And then you wanted Colin. You wanted a partner and you've found one. Stop pushing him away. I want you to laugh and I want you to have a good time."

Sybil just continued to shake her head. She was frustrated now and she really didn't wish to be. What she wanted was for Tom to somehow understand all of this and tell her she was right, even if as they continued to discuss this, she doubted she was. "It feels wrong. Like…" She stopped. "Like he can't be a friend. You were a friend once…" her voice trailed off.

Tom exhaled sharply. "I'm still a friend, love. It's just different now."

"I'm afraid of loving it. I can't commit. I need—" She paused. "I need to know that you'll love me no matter what. That even if I sign to a company and go on tour you'll still love me. Or if I work at the new studio for the rest of my life, you'll love me then."

Tom sighed. "Sybil, of course I'll love you. Whatever you want to do, I'll be behind you one hundred and eighty percent."

"What if this is as good as it gets?" she propositioned. "What if I don't get better? What if I come home and decide maybe my parents were right. Maybe Cambridge was the way to go…"

"Syb," Tom said, his voice coming out like a warning.

She was having none of it though. Even if she felt it, she wouldn't admit to how ridiculous she was being. Really, she wouldn't even realize it until long after the two hung up and she was left with just her thoughts and the quiet of her empty suite. "What then?"

Tom sighed. "You're so talented, Syb. And you can do anything you want, but whatever you decide, I'll be there, okay?"

"I don't know why I'm so hesitant. I thought it would be better by now."

"Well, you've always been a bit hesitant to admit when you love something," Tom joked, hoping Sybil would join him in smiling.

She didn't, but she wanted to. "Something or someone?" A beat and then: "I don't want to sign to a company. I know I keep saying it but I really don't."

"Okay."

"Why does that have to mean I love it less than the other girls? They all think its because of you but—"

Tom stopped picking at the stitching on his down comforter. He was pulled out of his late night daze by the words she said and the way in which she said them, almost as if she was waiting for him to fight her corner, just like he always did. "What?"

"Everyone here seems to think every decision I make when I dance is related to you," Sybil explained.

Tom straightened up, and with his changing posture, came a more serious tone. "Well, is it?"

"Is every decision you made with your writing connected to me?" she shot back.

"I'd be lying if I said you didn't influence it sometimes."

"I've never even thought about it," Sybil sighed. "It's always been so fluid. I don't wake up in the morning and think of the reasons why I dance. I just do."

"Does that scare you too?"

"It all scares me," Sybil said. "I told you before I left that we needed this. It's terrifying how much I love you, Tom. It's unbearable sometimes. But I do, and I won't stop or run away from it the way I used to. I guess I just thought it would get better. I thought I could go away and gain some independence and still love you just the same. But somehow it's made me love you more and need you more than I ever have. It's like I can't do this without you. And that's more scary than anything I've ever felt before."

"You can do this without me, Syb. You need to let other people in. Letting Colin help you doesn't mean you love me any less."

"Well maybe I don't want to."

Tom exhaled. He was exhausted too, but she didn't need to hear that now. That information would do neither of them any good at this point. "I don't want you too either. But if you think—"

"Tom, please don't."

"I just don't know what you want me to say!"

"Say you've been great without me! Say you've grown and you like the time we spend apart and—"

"I can't lie, Syb."

Sybil screamed out, and in all of her frustration flopped her weight back onto the bed. Tom listened to the way she groaned and couldn't help but smile at the child she was, and how she was only this version of herself for him.

"Do you know why I pushed you to go? Beyond how good you are, I mean?"

"Because I wanted it," Sybil let out. "And you were the only one that could convince me of that?"

Tom nodded. "Yeah. Mostly. But part of me thinks I did it to prove to them that we could be apart. Maybe I needed to believe that too. And the more I think about it, it's so fucked up. We talk about how we're better than them and that what they say doesn't matter but it does. It does and it always has. You need to stop listening to them and you know what, I do too," he reasoned. "No matter what they say. I love you, Syb. But even if you were just my friend, I think I'd need you this much. And they don't get that. They never will. But it's not my job or your job to explain that to them."

"Sometimes I don't get it," Sybil whispered, creating a most unpleasant band of white noise across the line as her breathing made up for the sound her words did not create.

Tom picked up his head. "What?"

"You're right. I can't draw the line. I'm trying, but—"

He was frustrated now, admittedly more than he should have let himself get.

"Forget drawing lines, Syb! You're better than this. You have so much potential and you're wasting it because you still can't forget what they think."

"And what about you? It's okay if I care what you think?" He said nothing, so she continued, knowing that, as usual, she would have to be strong when he could not be. "Constantly I am pushing and working to prove myself. It's exhausting."

"I never asked for that," Tom tried. Again, he reached up to his forehead to rub at his temples. He was tired too, the same exhaustion she was feeling sitting deep in his own chest.

Sybil sighed, choking back that same pain. She feared, if only for a moment that even without the distance to separate them, it would still exist. "No. But when you love someone you don't have to."

"Syb…"

"I wish we had never gotten into all of this. I wish—"

"What?" He choked out.

"We should have never...I shouldn't have. I don't know…"

Tom threw the covers off his legs and went to stand up off the bed. The words she was saying were moving him, making it difficult to sit in bed, without her, and take it all in. "Sybil? What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that sometimes I think we are so unhealthy. We were fifteen, Tom! We had no idea what we were doing and lately I can't help but think it was all for nothing."

"Syb, stop," Tom warned. He was standing now, rubbing an angry hand to the back of his neck. His voice wasn't soft and reassuring the way she needed, but instead, harsh and brisk, just begging for Sybil to stop talking completely. "You think that because they think that. What have we worked for? Was _this_ all for nothing?" he asked, his voice dripping in hurt, frustration, and even a bit of disgust as he threw Sybil's words back at her. He wasn't talking about their relationship, but instead what they had worked for, and how far they had come from the scared teenagers they were not even a year ago. To Tom it was beautiful, magical even, and he knew that beneath all of Sybil's insecurities, in a moment of clarity, she would agree.

"Don't you just wish we could go back?" Sybil asked, her voice weakly breaking through the quiet.

Tom gave her an answer in the form of silence. White noise resonated across the line before Sybil's phone beeped, signaling that Tom had ended the call. Sybil pulled the phone away from her ear and looked at the screen where the picture of the two of them faded to grey before disappearing completely.

When she set down the phone, she realized her head felt heavy. Lazily she laid back on her bed and touched a dainty palm to her hairline, smoothing the waves back away from her face. She wasn't running a fever but she felt as if she could sleep for days. She thought about dance partners and Tom and possibly signing to a company or working somewhere other than London. She thought that even if she did find a dance partner that could provide for her in the way Tom did, she would never acknowledge it. She didn't want to, and she didn't feel the need to have a man validate her onstage. Offstage, she had a friend and a lover that did that and so much more. Even through the tears and the achey muscles, Sybil found herself wanting for nothing else.

The tears she was still crying came quicker than they ever had before. Sybil sobbed, her breath catching, creating a painful pressure in the back of her throat. Just as quickly as she had voiced her concerns to Tom, she regretted them, feeling guilty for ever daring to think them in the first place.

She rubbed at her forehead, willing the headache she was experiencing to dissipate, or at least numb. It didn't go away, and only intensified, spreading from her temples to her cheeks, emphasizing the burning deep down in her chest. All was erased in a bright white flash when her phone rang again. She choked out a last ragged breath, inhaling softly, doing her best to regain control, the same control she had lost when Tom hung up before. She didn't need to hear his voice on the other end to know how sorry he was, and again, she felt guilty, knowing this was her fault and not his. She regretted the words she said, hating them as if they were not her own. Tom deserved better, and if she wasn't so disappointed in her own pride, she'd have told him so.

Sybil didn't have the chance though. After a deep sigh, Tom spoke. "What do you want?"

"What?" Sybil choked out.

Tom repeated his words. "What do _you _want?" he emphasized, putting the emphasis on her, when Sybil knew that she didn't deserve such attention.

"I don't know."

"Yes, you do."

Sybil sighed. "I don't. I think I want to teach but—" She sighed. Tom waited for her to continue but no words came. He wanted to tell her to teach, but he needed to have her confirm what he was thinking, only because he knew she was thinking it too. "I want to teach," Sybil confirmed.

"Then teach." It was Tom's turn to sigh. "Whatever you want."

"And if it changes?"

"Then it changes," he whispered.

"I love you," Sybil offered, cutting through the silence.

Tom inhaled sharped. "I love you too."

* * *

x. Elle


	26. A World Apart

**A/N:** I'm dedicating this chapter as a bit of an extremely belated birthday present for _**YankeeCountess**_! Thank you for all that you do for this fandom, and especially for the time you give to my story. Hopefully this chapter does not disappoint!

**Reminder:** This story is rated MATURE. The events depicted in this chapter are both real and beautiful and not discussed openly enough in fanfiction, in my opinion.

Enjoy! Reviews are always lovely and very very much appreciated! I know I say it a lot, but thank you to all of you who are still reading this. It means the world to me.

* * *

"My independence is the part that drew you in  
You said, I like the way you know a thing or two  
But I must confess the air I breathe and paths I tread  
Are making me less aware of what I have to do  
I've done all I can to build the strength I need  
Climbed all the mountains, wishing you were here to see  
But you have opened up the heart of me  
Taken the shadows and replaced them with your face  
And you have opened up a part of me  
Saying, please don't leave me here  
When I'm a world apart from you."  
_A World Apart_ - Vedera

* * *

Sybil returned home earlier than usual. She and Nikki had stopped to get dinner after class, enhancing the growing bond the two girls had formed upon realizing they had much more in common than they would ever admit. All was also helped when Sybil accidentally told Nikki that Colin was quite possibly in love with her. The small smirk present on Nikki's face made Sybil smile as well, remembering a time when she first heard Tom reveal something of the same. This was a truce, one that all of their classmates had been waiting for since they first sensed the tension between the two ballerinas. Between Sybil and Nikki, slowly at first, then more naturally, they respected the time they shared, dancing in the same practice space Colin always reserved using his upperclass privileges.

When Colin would leave for an hour in between his sessions with Nikki and Sybil, the girls would retreat to opposite sides of the room. Sybil would retire to the floor, stretching her feet out in front of her, usually utilizing a medicine ball or an athletic wrap to create pressure for her feet to move against. Sometimes, she would do something that made Nikki envious, and as Sybil's foot was pressed completely flat against the floor with both the ball and the pad of her foot touching the masonite, Nikki would roll her eyes. She didn't bother to ask Sybil if it hurt; like all actions Sybil made in front of others, she made this one look absolutely effortless. In contrast, Nikki used the time to fix her hair, or apply Calamine lotion to her shoes, doing her best to perfect the worn silk, causing Sybil to laugh at the thought of all that time and hard work being disguised. Such a task rarely crossed Sybil's mind. She had a completely different pair of shoes to be utilized for performance. If anyone dare comment on the rips evident on her shoes, or the way the silk faded around the platform, she would laugh. She wore her dirty shoes proudly, and like battle scars, they adorned her feet, presenting to the world all of the work she had put into a dance.

Tonight was different though. Tonight, she was forfeiting hours in a rented out studio with Colin to video chat with Max. A week ago, she had made the long trip to the post office, carrying all of the gifts she had bought the child for his upcoming birthday. It was only after she paid for the cab fare and the postage that Sybil realizing it was perhaps better to buy the gifts online and send them that way. When Mary called Sybil a few days later, telling her the large box of gifts was delivered safely, Sybil forgot her earlier thought.

It was not too long ago that she was turning ten, and while it seemed like light years away, Sybil pictured the dress she was forced in to, and how she had purposely spilled tea on it so her mother would let her change. It was that same family party that Tom broke his arm, falling from a tree he had climbed to retrieve a bunch of lilacs for Sybil. As she watched him come tumbling down that day, she laughed. Only now, at a much wiser age of eighteen did she realize the extent to which Tom always went to make her happy. It was the same now, but more intense, making her all the more guilty when she remembered that they had gone a full week without talking on the phone. He was busy, she told herself. She wanted to believe this about herself as well, but she knew better. She was never too busy for Tom, and just in the way she laughed on her tenth birthday, she sometimes had a way of ignoring his feelings just as she was always taught to ignore her own. It wasn't fair though; it had never been fair and she wouldn't dare blame her parents now, not when she had grown so much despite them.

All she did lately was dance, quite well too, her body moving and learning to appreciate the intimacy that Colin offered. The two laughed together, and made witty jokes back and forth that caused the other to have to hide a smile, not wanting to be caught enjoying the company they were keeping. Sybil's own smile would falter as she thought of Tom. Then she'd grow angry at herself, remembering the promises she made, to love it not to spite him, but to love it because he loved it too. It was a promise that they could exist as separates and still be just as wonderful and strong together.

Sybil walked to her desk. On the pushed in chair rested her laptop bag, collecting invisible dust after nearly a week of going untouched. This was a college, she told her parents, and she also lamented to them about the other classes she was forced to take: music theory and history and costume design. Somehow though, it was these things that she wished would win them over that actually upset them more. They were paying for her to be trained as a ballerina. The other things, the importance of composition and networking within the school's different departments didn't make sense to Robert and Cora.

Scattered around her room were half empty mugs of cool tea, where a white ring of milk began to congeal above the surface of the liquid. Nightly, she'd enter the room and tell herself that it desperately needed to be tidied. In just three weeks she would be back home, at Downton, spending nights wishing her parents had accepted Tom's offer to let her move in for the summer. She'd be away from this place, these people, and this city, to a place that was all the more familiar, and somehow, just as terrifying. As she got into bed each night, her mind briefly remembering the dirty tea cups, she wondered if she was growing as complacent as Colin had once accused her of being.

Sybil opened her laptop and watched as the screen went from black to a less dull grey. Then, the backlight turned on, and she typed in her password, revealing her screensaver, an old picture of her entire family, even Tom, on the lawns of Downton. It was nearly four years old. In the photo, Robert held Cora close, and all three Crawley girls wore smirks as bright as the sun shining down upon them at this specific garden party. Casually, a younger Sybil nestled into Tom's chest as the photo was taken, with not a stitch of makeup touching her porcelain skin. Her hair was in a plait, draped over her shoulder, complimenting the strapless dress she wore, one that flowed in the wind, revealing the old trainers she wore beneath. Tom had a tight grip on her hip, bunching the fabric of her dress and mimicking the way she fisted his henley. He wore trainers too, and just like that, they were children again, lost in a moment before things made complicated by secrets and love and careers.

A sigh escaped her lips as she walked toward the door where her electric kettle stood on a small end table. With the now boiling water she poured herself a cup of tea, watching as the water hit the tea bag, causing the liquid to immediately turn murky. A sweet aroma filled the air, and when she was satisfied with the color, Sybil tossed the teabag into the garbage behind the door and then walked to her fridge to retrieve some milk. With the drink made to her liking, she moved her laptop bag and sat on the wooden chair in its place with her legs crossed tightly beneath her body.

She opened Skype and waited, using the time to check her email. She also texted Tom, but closed out of the screen quickly thereafter. She knew better than to wait for a response from him. If he wished to talk to her, he would. And if he didn't, it wasn't because he loved her any less. He was busy, she reiterated, only to feel the thought weighing heavily on her shortly thereafter.

There was a beeping heard out of the speakers on Sybil's laptop, causing her to pick up her head and glance at the screen. On it, a picture of Mary's face popped up, with options underneath for Sybil to either accept or reject the call. She, of course, accepted it, and the smaller window on the screen expanded, turning into a black box before focusing, showing Max on the screen.

He beamed, and then waved, happy to see his Aunt for the first time since Christmas. The two had talked on the phone briefly here and there, but had failed to make time to see one another in the way they were now. Last week, when Mary had FaceTimed Sybil, Max was at Karate lessons, and after that, Matthew was taking him out to dinner. Like Tom, the young boy was busy and once again, this caused Sybil to yearn for a time when life didn't seem to get in the way of those she loved.

"Maximus!" Sybil exclaimed. "Happy almost birthday, kid!"

Max smiled wide, showing his aunt a toothy grin. "Thanks, Aunt Sybil."

"How was school, bud?"

Max's smile faded a bit, but came back quickly as he decided to talk about his after school science course. "Great. I've picked what my project for next year's fair will be."

Sybil's expression didn't falter. Her face continued to brighten the more she listened to her nephew talk. She knew he didn't have many friends at school, and that like she sometimes did, he kept to himself, choosing instead to focus on his studies. Knowing the loneliness that sometimes accompanied this outlook, Sybil did her best to encourage Max to participate in more group activities, especially urging him to continue playing the violin, as he failed to excel in other group activities like sports.

"This early?" she questioned. "What is it?"

"It's a surprise."

Sybil nodded. "I see. Is your mum there?"

Max looked over his shoulder to where Mary was at the counter, cutting an apple for her son. She leaned down until she saw her image appear on the video chat screen. She waved, and Sybil waved back, throwing a simple "Hi Mary" her way. Mary then disappeared from view, walking away from the counter to the fridge to pour Max a glass of juice. She brought both to the table and while Max thanked his mother and immediately began to chew at the apple slices, Mary picked him up and put him on her lap. Even at the age of nine, almost ten, Max was still her baby, the same word Cora often used when talking about Sybil.

Max looked to Mary. "Can we open presents now?"

Mary looked to Sybil, then to Max. Already Sybil was smirking, but holding back a chuckle. Ever since Max was a child, Mary scolded Sybil for laughing at his behavior, an action she believed would only encourage the child to misbehave. As he matured and was able to communicate more, going as far to pick up his father's own sense of humor, Mary was more lenient and she even found herself allowing Max to see just how amusing she found him to be. "What do you think Syb? Should we let the kid open his gifts?"

Sybil smirked. "Of course," she stated, watching as Max's eyes grew wide again.

Mary leaned in to Max and nudged him away. "Go ahead," she sighed.

The child ran off, disappearing completely from view. Sybil laughed and Mary smiled back. "How are things?"

Sybil shrugged. "Fine."

"Just fine? Mama and Papa pay how much for that school and things are just fine?"

"I'm tired. All I do is rehearse."

"And sleep and eat and shower, I hope."

Sybil rolled her eyes. "Sometimes," she kidded causing Mary to make a face in disgust.

Before silence could settle in, Mary changed the subject, still touching upon her youngest sister's clear unhappiness. "I spoke to Tom this morning."

Sybil glanced up, her eyes no longer resting on the worn out grain of her desk but on her Mary's sly smirk, one that told of all she felt she had and would continue to accomplish. "He seemed to be in a bit of a stupor."

"He's working on an article related to the Brazil riots and—"

"Oh, bullshit, Sybil!" Again, Sybil looked up to catch her eyes upon Mary's. The smirk her eldest sister wore was gone now, replaced by a much more sinister glance, one that declared worry without her consent. "What happened?"

Sybil shrugged. "I was tired and I took it out on him."

"Took what out on him?"

Sybil leaned forward to stir at her tea. She wouldn't dare look at Mary right now. "We've just both been working really hard and I miss him and—"

"Do you know how much he champions for you even now that you're gone? Mama and Papa don't bother speaking poorly of your decisions anymore when he's around. They're tired of fighting him on it, and really, he does nothing but shoot these gaping holes in their arguments. Papa and him don't chat nearly as much as they used to. Tom knows that your relationship is putting a distance between them."

Sybil grabbed for her tea. Sipping at the steaming liquid, she let it warm her insides before deciding to take on her sister and all she was revealing. "They've never really got along."

"Sybil, please. I will stand up for you, but you know that's not true. Papa and Tom once had a great relationship. No," she said before Sybil could, "it's not as great as the one that Matthew and Papa have, but Matthew has been at a mature age for much longer than Matthew has. When Helen died, Papa did not hesitate to take Tom in, and you know that. Mama agreed of course but it was his idea."

Sybil held her mug in her hands now. She stared at the contents of the cup, dwindling the more she nervously sipped at the beverage. When she looked up to Mary, then out to the window above her desk, her eyes navigated, doing their best to rid themselves of the tears she felt already welling. "Can we please not talk about this?"

It was Mary's turn to sigh. Upstairs, she heard Max rifling through the box of gifts Sybil sent that he insisted be kept in his room until it was time to open them. Her eyes darted away to the plate her son had left behind. Looking down, she picked up an apple slice and held it at eye level while peeling at the skin. Her gaze did not return to Sybil as she continued. "How has the sex been lately?"

Sybil's eyes widened. "What?"

"When you were home for Christmas, I mean," she explained. She then looked up. "I do assume that's why you insisted on spending the night there all the time."

"You assume wrong then," Sybil stated curtly. She wished that she had a fruit to pick apart at, to take up her time in the way her now empty mug had before.

Mary looked up. "Bad?"

"I'm not discussing this with you. This has nothing to do with Tom and I right now."

"Sybil, if you wish to be treated like an adult, you must first act like an adult. I," Mary said, touching her fingertips to her neck, "am an adult. I can talk about sex and anything of the like—"

Sybil leaned in to the screen. "Did you know Max asked Tom and I what sex was? Have you not explained all of this to him?"

"He's nine!" Mary countered.

"Almost ten!" Sybil corrected. The tone in which the two girls were using was much like the one they would have used as children. Though older now, and a bit more mature, the bickering they experienced as young siblings would never truly be lost. "You scolded Mama for not talking to me. Maybe you have the same problem."

"Sybil, even you have to admit ten is a bit young, and eighteen was clearly a bit late," she tried to joke. When Sybil didn't laugh, she continued. "If he is really that curious, he can ask Matthew and I, just like with everything else. But really, please do not make this a conversation about my parenting style."

"Fine," Sybil pouted. Quickly she looked down to her phone where Tom had just texted her back, telling her he missed her and that he would call her as soon as he submitted his article for review. "If you must know," she began after taking a deep breath, "Tom and I have not been intimate since his accident."

"Oh dear Christ!" Mary gasped, dropping her head down to hide behind her hands. "Why not?" she finally asked after picking her head back up. "Well, is he okay?" she gestured, her hands waving about as if to conjure up a deity.

Sybil laughed. "He's fine."

"Well thank God for that. Mother would really like more grandchildren and you're her last chance. We both know Edith and Anthony are a lost cause. Even if he wasn't as old as Papa, Edith doesn't want children. Really, we just can't have Tom shooting blanks."

"Everything works perfectly fine," Sybil reiterated, her voice now growing annoyed with her sister's antics. Mary had told her to be mature, yet it seemed the minute she followed her orders, it was the eldest Crawley girl that forgot her own age. "We just decided to wait."

Mary dropped her head back to laugh. With the apple slice already past her lips she covered her mouth with her hand as she chewed and swallowed it down. "We? Tom agreed to this?"

Sybil looked at her mug, hoping to find it somehow refilled, but was upset to see that it was just as empty as it was before. "I suggested it and he agreed."

"Yeah, sometimes if I'm lucky, Matthew goes to the grocery store for me."

Sybil leaned forward, resting her head on her hand. Like this, her body was completely folded into itself, just a mess of limps sitting atop her wooden desk chair. "This isn't funny. I'm not kidding. We wanted to do this."

"Sybil, no teenage boy agrees not to have sex. I mean, Tom has proven he's willing to do pretty much anything for you, and I understand that transcends your romantic relationship, but really, he has his needs. This was not his idea and I know it."

"I already said I suggested it…" Sybil said, her voice growing more and more annoyed with each aggressive remark made by Mary.

"Why?"

"Because I thought if we waited it would be special—"

"No," Mary sing-songed. "You thought that if you waited it would somehow become different than it was before." Her tone made the statement seem like a suggestion, something that Sybil could settle on and later agree to. Instead, Sybil continued to be irritated by her sister's persistent pestering. This was unlike her, and Sybil wondered what it was that suddenly changed everything or if this would somehow be a one time thing.

Sybil straightened up. As she did so, she pushed her laptop back, exposing more of herself and her room to Mary. "What are you getting at?"

Mary sighed. "Nevermind. All I'm saying is that Tom does a lot for you."

"So I reward him with sex?"

"Can I finish?" Mary asked, her smile still saccharine. "He's been really stressed out lately. And I know he doesn't share this with you because he doesn't want to concern you, but you need to step back and realize how good you have it. Yes, you've been brave and you've both admitted your feelings and decided to be together. Yes, it absolutely sucks that you had to leave for New York shortly thereafter. But you know what? That's life. It doesn't stop for anyone and it certainly doesn't apologize, but you can. It's as easy as that. If you love him as much as you say you do, do not take him for granted."

"I don't—" But Sybil couldn't continue. No words existed in any lexicon to make what she was feeling seem okay. There was pain, guilt, but mostly, an empty feeling, one that could only be cured by speaking to Tom, maybe even seeing him too. She needed, and more importantly, wanted to tell him how much he meant to her just as she had sworn she had so many times before. But the words she thought she had spoken were only actions then. She really hadn't said those three words to him enough since their love was made public and now, the action was gone, too. "Okay," her voice settled, before trailing off completely.

"Good," Mary stated, pushing back away from the kitchen table as she saw Max in sight. Behind him, Matthew was carrying the large box of gifts toward the table where he then set them down on the ground.

"Hi Sybil," Matthew smiled, waving at his sister in law. "How's New York?"

"Pretty boring," she quipped. "How's London?"

"Pretty boring," he agreed, causing the teenage girl to smile.

Mary looked up to her husband. She touched a palm to his chest, but looked to her son as she asked her question. "What took you so long?"

"I had to bring in reinforcements," Max stated simply causing all three adults to roll their eyes northward.

Mary looked to Max. "I told you if you wanted that box up in your room then you had to bring it back down."

"I tried. Dad wouldn't let me," Max explained. "Besides, I didn't want to keep Sybil waiting."

"Look at her life," Mary said, gesturing to the screen. "It doesn't appear that you've kept her from much. Maybe from a shower, but not much else," Mary offered, causing Sybil to make a face that even made Matthew chuckle.

"Scoot over. I want to open these."

Matthew was over by the fridge now, grabbing a beer from the top shelf. He stepped back and popped the top off using the edge of the counter, before glaring at his son. "Excuse you? Please don't speak to your mother that way."

Max exhaled, causing his shoulders to slump over, heavy as if he was carrying the weight of a real problem and not the scolding of a parent. Sybil could only smile, remembering how at ten, such things were one in the same. "Sorry, but I can't see Aunt Sybil and she bought me the presents!" he whined.

Mary pulled Max's face toward her. Sloppily, she kissed his cheek, her lips landing with a rather loud smacking noise. He winced at the contact, and held a similar face even when his mother pulled away and he was left to wipe at the moisture she left on his cheek. "Don't be smart with me!" Mary warned.

Max sighed. "You're embarrassing me."

"One time your mum told me Mrs. Patmore made me coconut cream pie for my birthday. She brought it up the stairs with a candle in it and everything. When I bit into it, it was shaving cream. You don't know embarrassment, kid."

Max looked to his mother then back to Sybil before sitting down. Without transition, he grabbed for a gift, then another, revealing comic books and video games. The last gift that Sybil had purchased for him was a Rugby jersey for the team that Tom and him always rooted for. Mary and Matthew both recognized the deep red color immediately and smiled in the way that parents do when they're appreciative of the gift their child is receiving, while also doing their best not to scold the person giving it for spending so much on such a frivolous item.

Max had wanted the Jersey ever since Tom took him and Matthew to a game just last year when the Irish team was in England to play. Matthew was rooting for the opposing team, but it wasn't this that kept him from allowing Tom to purchase the jersey for his son. Both Mary and Matthew loved the relationship between Max and Tom, but they knew how quickly their son's own charm drained a wallet, and they never wished to put that burden on either Sybil or Tom. If Max wanted the jersey, they told him he would have to do chores and raise the money to purchase it on his own. The child sulked, but accepted these terms, and meanwhile, his aunt ordered the item as a gift, clearly neglecting to run the idea by Mary and Matthew first. Though they'd never say anything, simultaneously Mary and Matthew wondered if Tom told Sybil about the Jersey, knowing that whatever there was in this world that he could not accomplish, she would.

"Max, what do you say?"

"Thank you!" the child beamed. He was wearing the Jersey now, and Sybil couldn't help but smile at the way the fabric draped a bit. She purchased the next size up, hoping it would fit him perfectly by the time the next season arrived. Max didn't know it yet, but part of Tom's birthday gift was a weekend in Ireland to catch a tournament of scrimmage games featuring the team. That, he had cleared with Mary and Matthew, and somehow, they were much more open to that than to Sybil's choice of gift.

"When are you home, Aunt Sybil?"

Sybil's eyes darted to the calendar on her desk. "Only a few more weeks, bud! Then it's you and me, all summer."

"Well," Mary explained, pulling Max into her once more, "Max has science camp this summer and last time I checked, you had a studio to manage."

Sybil brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "Well, yes."

"You do have a job still, right?

Sybil looked up. "Oh, yeah, sorry, I was just thinking about something."

Mary smiled. "You're so odd," she stated plainly, causing Matthew, who was now at the counter dipping tortilla chips into a jar of salsa, to laugh.

"Thanks, Mary," Sybil muttered.

Mary nodded at her sister. "Anytime. Hey, what time does your flight get in that day anyway?"

Again Sybil looked to her calendar. Her phone, which she had set down near her mug, lit up again, revealing that Tom was still trying to contact her. "Early that morning. Eight, I believe, but you know how the flights are. It'll probably be closer to nine or ten."

Max stood up to join his father in the kitchen where the two boys began to move about themselves in search of a snack to satisfy their hunger before dinner. "Well Mama and Papa are having dinner at their place and they want us all there. They're still a bit miffed about Christmas, but you didn't hear that from me. They really are trying, Sybil, and they just want to make this work. You know, with Anthony officially becoming a member of this family, and you and Tom..."

"Um, no offense, but Tom's been apart of this family longer than Matthew has."

Matthew ducked his head out of the pantry and raised his arms as if to surrender. "No offense taken," he said with a chuckle, knowing Sybil's words were true. Tom had, and it was a fact that warmed Matthew instead of bothering him. He knew where he stood, just as Tom did. Two very different places, both respected, but for unlikely reasons. Matthew, out of time, and Tom, out of obligation turned acceptable by his undeniably agreeable nature.

"I'll be there," Sybil resolved. "I'm looking forward to it."

"Well, don't lie," Mary replied.

"No, I am," Sybil assured. "I've missed being home. Christmas break wasn't nearly long enough."

"Alright well Mama and Papa are going to school to pick up Max that day. Matthew and I have this absolutely dreadful golf luncheon to attend."

"Oh, you're golfing now Matthew?"

Matthew dropped his head down to appear in the shot. "Barely."

"He's good!" Mary cheered, smiling brightly at her husband as she did so. "Besides, I have to go because I helped to organize the finances for the entire thing."

Sybil raised an eyebrow to which Mary pursed her lips, quickly dismissing all thoughts she could have been entertaining. In particular, Sybil wished to ask Mary why she never pursued a degree in accounting or business, as she did have such a sharp mind when it came to those things. This obviously wasn't the time or the place for that conversation, but Sybil resolved to bring it up sometime this summer, deciding that now, while she was fighting the sky to pursue her own dreams, was as good of a time as any to encourage others to do the same.

"It'll be fun, " Mary confirmed. "But we will be a bit late for dinner. You know how traffic is getting out of those things and we can't exactly leave early."

Again, Sybil's phone buzzed, this time not with a message, but with a picture of Sybil and Tom, alerting her that her best friend had given up on texting and had decided to call her instead. She sighed, a wave of relief washing over her features, causing all forms of color, specifically a deep crimson rouge to appear in the apples of her cheeks. She was happy for Max and she was glad that he enjoyed his gifts, but suddenly, all of the rest of this conversation was entirely too weighty, causing Sybil to feel that she needed to seek the nearest exit. "Mary, Tom is—"

"Go," Mary said, with a simple wave of the hand. "I'll talk to you soon."

"Yes, you will."

"Love you, darling."

"You too," Sybil murmured.

At once, the window was minimized before disappearing completely. Sybil shut her laptop, not even bothering to put it to sleep first. Immediately, her phone was placed to her ear, craving the sound of his voice quickly and all at once, offering up to her more than just a "hello".

"Hi," she choked out, sighing as she did so. It was almost as if this was the phone call she had been waiting for. Like Tom had taken an absence from her life, losing himself in a place where communication between themselves didn't exist, and instead, silence had taken its place, hogging room and moments where the things they both deserved to hear should live.

"Hey," he offered back. It was enough for her, just as he was enough for her, and always had been. Sybil thought of Mary's words and the way her sister had reprimanded her for not appreciating Tom in the way he deserved. How dare her sister decide how she should feel and act toward her best friend. How dare Mary still know everything while knowing nothing at all.

"I'm sorry," she tried, instantly thinking better of it after the words escaped her lips. "I can't even remember half of what I said or why I said it but I know it hurt you and I don't ever want to do that again."

"Okay," Tom accepted. And again: "Okay." He sighed, running a frustrated hand through his hair before leaning back against his headboard. "I don't want to talk about it."

Quickly, Sybil agreed. "Me neither."

"I'm sorry, too—"

Like a simple finger to his lips, Sybil stopped him. "Don't," she said. "Please don't. I don't deserve—"

He didn't wish to start another argument, but he knew that she needed to hear this. "Yes, you do," he breathed out. "Can't I be the judge of that?"

With her hands tight near her face, she bit at one of her fingernails, nervously feeling the skin tense beneath her touch. She wasn't crying, but she wanted to. Whatever this was, she needed a release from it, but she so desperately wished that Tom would be there at the end of it all, helping her through. "Okay."

Sybil picked up her head and walked to her bed. Again, she sat down, this time only using one foot to cushion her fall. The other hung lazily off the bed as she leaned back, grabbing for her sneaker from the floor to throw over her head toward the door. It landed just as she needed it to, with a force that pushed the door shut, signified by the echo now reverberating off the walls she used to shut the rest of the world out.

On the bed, Sybil sank down. "What are you wearing?" Tom asked, his voice cutting through the silence, aiding in the creak of Sybil's mattress as it yielded to her weight.

"What?" she choked out.

Tom smiled. "I don't want to fight," he began, still smirking at the thought of the color in her cheeks spreading to other parts of her. "I just thought—"

She was still in her outfit from earlier, and Mary was right, she did need a shower. The tendrils that framed her face were pushed back, kept tight to her head with the elastic of a headband made to look like a floral crown. The rest of the outfit was not so whimsical: just a grey sweater and a pair of jean shorts. "Nothing interesting," Sybil said, before biting her lip.

"Syb, you have to play along."

It was this that made her crack, a small smile playing its way across her cheeks. "Oh, do I?"

"Well don't you want to?"

"Sure," she agreed, wondering suddenly if she should get up and lock the door. She thought better of it, and instead sat up on the bed to rid herself of her sweater. After a day of wearing it, the material was already beginning to stretch, making it easy to disrobe and throw the soft cashmere to the floor. "A bra," she stated plainly.

"And?"

"And what?" Sybil quirked an eyebrow, wondering what else he was looking for.

"You were just on chat with Max. Please tell me you did not just video chat with your nephew pantsless."

"Are you jealous?" Sybil jested, causing Tom to drop his head back to chuckle. "And aren't you at the office? Should we be—"

"I worked from home today," Tom explained.

Sybil laid back again. Lazily, a hand rested itself on her flat stomach, before reaching down to fiddle with the buttons on her shorts. "Where are you then?" she asked, her curiosity getting the best of her. She would play along, but only if she'd get just as much out of this as she knew he planned to.

"My bed." And then Tom's curiosity peaked as well, causing him to ask the same question. "Where are you?"

"My bed."

Sybil smirked, as the idea he clearly had suddenly became concrete in her mind. "Where do you wish we were?"

"In your bed. Back at Downton," he explained.

"Is anyone home?" she asks, her voice already dripping in desire. It was becoming all too clear that had he not started all of this, she would have possibly suggested something similar.

Tom shook his head. "Just you and me, love."

Sybil twirled a loose strand of hair around her finger. The grip her teeth had over her bottom lip was no more, slowly causing the skin to scrape before releasing completely. "Not even Carson? Just, milling about?"

Tom smirked, knowing Sybil used to love to tease him, especially when members of the staff, and sometimes her own mother or father, walked about just outside her bedroom door. There was a sexual energy there then, one that was lost upon them not only when their intimacy was pushed to the side, but when they first made their feelings for one another known. But it didn't have to be like that. Just like everything else, that was a choice they made. Now, with her on a bed in New York, and he, feeling like he was a million miles away in his flat in London, they'd do their best to get it all back. They'd be better now, and it would mean more too, just as Sybil had said she wanted.

"I don't know," Tom teased. "You're the one that told me to meet you up here."

Sybil wanted to groan. The hand that was on her stomach had moved down again. She did more than fiddle with the buttons, unclasping each one before extending her hips upward to make it easier to shimmy out of the shorts she wore. As she did this, she thought of all the times she had done just that; sent a short message to Tom, one she knew he would get while still at work. On Wednesdays when he attended a History lecture in the city, she'd send him rather explicit emails, ones she hoped he would read while still in class, or on the tube ride home. It was confirmed that he did when he showed up, each and every time, throwing his shirt off immediately once the door was shut, before pushing her to the bed to ravish her neck. When she'd tell him to be gentle, he'd just shake his head, proud of the cerise and plum mark he would undoubtedly stain her skin with as a sort of playful punishment for the teasing he endured. Just like now, he'd press his erection into her thigh, and he'd kiss her lips, somehow knowing that she understood that this was all for her. Even over the phone, he was this way for her, the zipper of his jeans open, and the beltline rolled down, exposing the heather grey material of his briefs where his cock was already beginning to harden at the mere sound of her breathing becoming more and more intense.

"Syb?" He asked.

Sybil pushed back at her hair, curling her finger behind her ear to tuck a few strands away from her face. Despite the headband she wore, she felt warm, and on one of the few arid spring nights afforded to lower Manhattan, she wished she hadn't left the window open despite the breeze it ushered in. Though she was not speaking now, she could not be held accountable for anything her mouth uttered from here on out.

"Sorry, darling. I got distracted."

"What are you thinking of?"

"That time," she began, but then had to stop. A wide smile spread across her lips, urging her to continue. "That time in the library when my father came home."

Even Tom blushed at the thought, causing his cock to spring to attention as he remembered that exact afternoon and how Sybil had been pushy in the best way possible. "Fuck, love."

"Do you remember?"

"Uh, yah…" Tom's voice trailed off as he stood up to kick out of his jeans. He remembered just as well as she did, the ragged breathing, and the way she bit his shoulder to keep from screaming out as they hit their orgasms together. How he spilled into her that day, and how later he had told her it was his new favorite thing, despite his apprehension for both her response and the obvious risks they catered to. Sybil just smiled, and pulled him close to taste him, and nibble at his bottom lip. She loved it too, and it was one of the things she was missing the most now. It was an indescribable closeness, one she had always sworn was well worth the gamble.

"I never got my underwear back, by the way," she said, her words accusing as she leaned forward to reach around her back and unclasp her bra.

Tom laid back on the bed. "If I recall, you weren't wearing any," he said, his mouth suddenly going dry.

"Checkmate," she whispered, and Tom couldn't help but to reach down and grasp his warm member. He pictured her as she was now in nothing but an afternoon glow, with her long locks draped messily over her shoulders. She had worn a bra that morning after seeing her sweater was somewhat transparent underneath light, but skipped panties, knowing she'd soon be in a leotard anyway. Routines that made sense at home, when he was close and they were intimate, somehow still held weight under these new circumstances.

"Okay, so we're in my room. What are you wearing?"

"Nothing," Tom choked out, his hand doing its best to move ever so slowly from the base of his cock all the way up to the tip. "Nothing at all," he somehow managed.

Sybil reached down, outstretching her hand so that her fingernails moved in circles over her neck, her breasts, and then her tummy. Her skin felt electric, made even more sensitive as a cool gust of wind blew in through the window by her desk. She shivered, wishing he was here to kiss away her goosebumps. "I miss you," she whispered, hoping he heard the true meaning behind her words.

"I love you," Tom countered, still moving his hand up and down over his cock. He looked down to his hips and then returned his attention back to Sybil, on the phone. "Are you touching yourself?"

Sybil's hand jumped, no longer moving to separate her lower lips and run a finger up and down her wet slit in the way she wished he could. "No," she choked out, quite literally. She actually coughed, her own mouth going dry; a clear side effect of her obvious lie.

"C'mon Syb, nobody's going to know. It's just you and me, love."

Sybil nodded. "Just you and me." Her hands moved finally, doing their best to repeat the actions they had attempted before.

"I'd kiss you if I were there."

"Why?" she breathed out.

"Because you deserve it," Tom said quickly. "And because I love you, and your body, and all that you are when we're together. So feckin' beautiful," he growls, his own orgasm building in his belly, hitting some sort of peak she knew would subside if he only kept his hand pumping. He did, and his breathing evened out. Unfortunately, Sybil took this as a sign that he was ahead of her, and she wouldn't dare let him get there first. If they were going to do this, and she really did want to now, they would do it together.

"What if I didn't want you to kiss me?"

"Why did you?" Tom asked. "It could have been just sex but there were plenty of nights in your bed where all I did was kiss you. Your lips, your neck, your stomach, your—"

Sybil nodded. Her own hands traveled the route he had just described, dancing across her warm skin. As she moved south, she licked her fingers, before doing exactly what it was he wanted her to do. Slowly, her fingers were running up and down her folds, lubricating themselves the more she ground her hips on her hand and the way her index and middle finger rubbed circles on her most sensitive spot. She moaned, recalling those nights as well, and how alone in her own vulnerability she could admit that they were her favorite.

"It's all I want," she finally managed. "For you to kiss me. It's all I've ever wanted," she explained. "I want it now."

"What else do you want, Syb?"

"I want us on the edge of the bed, slowly rocking, not taking our eyes off of one another even when we come, I want—" Sybil's hips bucked as the fingers she was sliding in and out of her center hit her core, making her knees spasm. Her eyes widened at the thought that this spot existed without Tom present, a theory she had yet to prove for the simple fact that she never really wanted or needed to. Sybil had explored her own body many times, but always with Tom. Anything other than that, even with her departure to the states, was unwanted. A part of her felt cheated by the thought of loving herself like this, without him here to validate her actions. She knew that a boy, even if that boy was Tom, could never feel the same, but the gesture was there, and she knew, because he told her, that his favorite way to get off was to picture her pleasuring herself.

"I want to give that to you," Tom said, his words like a promise.

Never one to be a selfish lover, Sybil tried to focus, despite the intense sensations present at the apex of her thighs. "What do you want?"

"Just you," Tom moaned. Just as she would have, he ran his thumb over the tip of his cock where a dribble of pre-cum had collected. He used this to aid his ministrations, wishing that instead, her warm mouth was encasing him, all of him, while her hands reached down resting just behind his balls to apply pressure to the sensitive muscles in his thighs with her thumb and forefinger.

"How do you want me?" Sybil teased, not sure she could play this game much longer. Already, she felt as if she could let go, but first, she wanted to hear the same from Tom.

"I don't care," he let out, and Sybil smiled, knowing this was confirmation enough. She so desperately wished to hear about more of their roleplaying and all of the things they would do to one another when she was back home for the summer. But the aching between her thighs was all too present, and despite the sensation that made Sybil want to stop her actions and end here, she instead curled her fingers skyward, and screamed out.

"Shite, you okay?" Tom asked. His own words were syncopated, made difficult to speak by his nearing orgasm.

Sybil nodded. "Are you close?" she asked.

Tom nodded. "Fuck, yes."

She couldn't hear him anymore, as her own thoughts were clouded with the image of him resting below her, holding her tightly as the two rolled against one another, bringing one another exactly to where they needed to be. She thought of that time in the library, but then settled on one of those nights he had referenced, where underneath the moonlight, in thin pajamas, he kissed her skin and brought her to life. It was the latter image, so sensual it was practically real, that had Sybil clasping her legs together before spreading them again, allowing her orgasm to hit. The warm pulsation coming from her core was evident now, in a wet, outlined form atop her sheets. She sighed, and leaned back, an elated smile overcoming her features, making it difficult to open her eyes and face reality.

On the phone, Tom's own guttural climax had hit as well, spurring her on. As he reached across his body toward the bedside table where a box of tissues sat, he too smiled, suddenly feeling not only happy, but calm, as well. He knew just as well as she did, that sleep would not be too far away for him, and he wondered, as he would if she were here, if she'd mind. She'd join him eventually, letting him get to that place only after he posed the same question he always did after their lovemaking. "You okay, love?"

"Perfect," Sybil whispered across the line, wiping at the bead of sweat present along her brow. She sat up, her heel touching the wet spot on her sheets, causing her to smile as she pictured Tom, nudging her over so they could share it. Alone though, she blushed, and pulled her covers up now to cover her naked form with her legs now pulled in close.

Tom used the tissues he had grabbed to wipe his abdomen off, before throwing the crumpled up wad into the trash near his closet. He too leaned back and grabbed for the covers bunched up down near the foot of the bed. "Did you—?"

Sybil nodded, humming into the phone a bit. "It's been awhile, hasn't it?"

"That it has." He wanted to apologize, because he knew what that meant, but instead, his words mimicked their tone at the beginning of this phone call. It was no use apologizing for the past, just so as long as they worked to better themselves in the future. "I'll be there in a little more than two weeks, love," Tom mentioned. He reached over and grabbed the remote control from the drawer of his bedside table, and used it to turn off the lights. The room was dressed in darkness now, matching the dorm Sybil occupied, highlighting, despite it not being their intention, the loneliness present.

"Don't tease, Tom. Though, I will admit," she said, her voice suddenly appearing cheerier. "I'm a bit upset we didn't think of this before."

"I love you," he stated, and she repeated those same words to him, vanishing all the worry and the doubt that existed during the last phone call in which they were spoken.

In bliss, Tom sighed, knowing that just as he had originally guessed, he would not be able to get her to cave on their vow. Sybil was adamant with promises, and persistent with what she wanted. Not too long ago she had set her sights on him, and got exactly, if not more than, what she bargained for. Once upon a time he wished he was enough, and now, he knew the answer to that question, hating himself for ever doubting it in the first place. What he didn't know, was that Sybil had the same insecurities, and that as the two fell asleep, ending the call only when their phone batteries threatened to disconnect them, she would tell him this, and he'd repeat the same back to her. It was a new kind of "I love you", one that neither of them had heard before. Despite the distance, it meant just as much, and she'd tell him of all the fears she had, both personal and romantic, if it meant hearing it once again.

* * *

I hope this is enough to hold you all over, as I won't be posting again until July 6th. Mini hiatus, but I'm sure you all can manage. My intention with this is to give me a bit of a break from writing while I'm on vacation, and to also give some people who are behind, a chance to hopefully catch up. Absolutely not fair to those of you who are so good at staying on top of this, which I really am sorry for, but I hope you understand.

I'll still be on email and on tumblr (both on my phone) so if you need me, either send me a PM on this site or a message on tumblr.

See you on the 6th, babes!

x. Elle


	27. Landslide

**A/N:** I don't think I've said it lately, so thank you to those of you who are still following this story! I can't tell you how much it means to have people still following and favorite-ing my work, and reviews are always lovely too! All of it motivates me to continue writing and sharing this story, so again, thank you all!

It is also worthy to mention that this chapter was originally meant to include much more. But as it stands it hit 6,000+ words and my beta told me I should just make the subsequent events a separate chapter. I know some of you prefer shorter chapters anyway, so I agreed to the split. Just know that I tried not to make it so dance heavy, but because it had to stand alone, it somehow ended as such. If I get good feedback, I'll post the next chapter sooner rather than later.

As usual, nothing is really all as it seems. Big things are coming, readers!

**Note:** The song Sybil dances to is the song quoted below.

* * *

"Oh, mirror in the sky, what is love?  
Can the child within my heart rise above?  
And can I sail through the changing ocean tides?  
Can I handle the seasons of my life?"  
_Landslide_ - Fleetwood Mac

* * *

The backstage dressing room looked no different than a long hallway, with a mirror and countertop spanning the length of the wall parallel to the door. The girls placed their belongings on the floor beneath their vanities, ones which they somehow managed to share without incident. Makeup bags, water bottles, and bobby pins littered the tables as each dancer moved here and there, some in costume and some not, doing their best to get ready in time.

Sybil sat at her own dressing table, applying a cream blush to the apples of her cheeks, hoping the cosmetic would make up for the nervousness that rid the color from her complexion. She had performed before, many times actually, and usually to rave reviews. Still, there was a nervousness here, one that was evident in the way she bounced her leg up and down as she attempted to apply an adequate amount of liquid eyeliner to her upper lash line. She couldn't pinpoint if it was Juilliard, or the fact that there were undoubtedly company casting directors in the audience, sitting only a few rows from where her family would be, wishing to offer her a contract she would inevitably politely decline.

Her cell phone sat in her own makeup bag, where she now reached for her setting powder and a large kabuki brush. In wide, circular strokes, she applied the top coat, amazed and yet appalled by how thick her makeup was, and how for as normal as she'd look from the audience underneath the bright lights, here in the confines of this dressing room, her face was not her own.

The screen of her phone lit up, alerting Sybil that she had a text message. It was one she had been waiting for since arriving to the theatre, just two hours ago. Tom and her parents were set to arrive to New York that afternoon, with only a few hours to check in to their hotel and grab a meal before heading to Lincoln Center. Tom texted Sybil when they first landed, but the communication between the two had since dwindled. Last she heard from him he was hopping into the shower, and then leaving to grab a drink with her parents before heading uptown.

Sybil leaned forward to glance at the screen of her iPhone. "We're here," it said. She read his message and smiled before grabbing the phone to respond.

"Did you get to your seats yet?"

Quickly, Tom replied: "Walking there now. This place is packed."

Sybil smiled, but the pit in her stomach grew. She swallowed, causing the pressure in her throat to subside. "How's the hotel?"

Tom, Robert and Cora filed into a row where their reserved seats were. He sat down, and placed the program he was handed on the way in on his lap before sending her a response. "It's not Gramercy," he said, referring to the Chatwal and the penthouse suite Robert and Cora had reserved for the weekend.

Sybil smiled as she remembered all of the memories there, in particular the shower they shared on the morning he last left her. It was crazy to Sybil how that was so many months ago, and how since then, so much had changed. It was a different closeness, a different intimacy, but a much better understanding between the two, one that no longer made her miss how they used to be.

Behind her, Nikki walked in, bringing with her a large makeup case which she set down noisily on the dressing table. Sybil laughed, watching as the girl rid herself of her large sweatshirt revealing an outfit much like the one Sybil and a few of the other girls wore. White tights with large wool socks bunched up to the knee to keep the dust of the backstage area from dirtying the fabric. Due to Nikki's solo, her red leotard stood out, contrasting with the cream. Sybil didn't like the color, but she was envious of the crimson, only because she felt lost in the pale shades of her own outfit. Her hair seemed darker now against her porcelain complexion and the thick eyelashes she was applying, one by one.

"Where were you?"

Nikki looked down to Sybil, as if finally realizing the girl was sitting there. Annoyed, she shrugged. "Out."

Sybil smirked before leaning further into the mirror. In her hand she held a pair of tweezers currently clamping a lash set. She waved the lash in the air, doing her best to dry the adhesive a bit before applying it to her lash line. "How's Colin?" she asked.

"Oh, shut up!" Nikki replied, finally collapsing into her chair to begin getting ready. Like Sybil, she went through the motions, applying foundation, then blush, then eye shadow, before working carefully on her thick winged liner. "Tom?" Nikki asked, nodding toward the phone Sybil was holding in her hands.

Looking up, she nodded. "Yeah."

"Your parents are here too right?"

"Yup."

Nikki finished the line she was drawing before leaning back to admire her work. "Not excited?"

Sybil shrugged. "It's just been awhile since they've seen me dance. And they always have something to say…"

"Parents always have something to say."

Sybil smiled, feeling comforted by Nikki's advice. They rarely talked about their families, but it didn't take much for both girls to know that the homes they grew up in were vastly different. Nikki was from New Jersey and grew up in low-income housing. Her parents, despite all of their financial troubles, loved one another, and did everything in their power to push their daughter to follow her dreams. It was a great divergence from the life Sybil was accustomed to at Downton and yet she found herself envious of the closeness afforded to a family without things like money, politics, and tradition.

"Have they met him yet?"

Nikki finally turned to Sybil. The two girls locked eyes before returning to their previous tasks; Sybil texting Tom and Nikki applying mascara. "Who?"

"Colin." Sybil stated plainly.

"I told you, we're not dating."

"Yeah, okay. I've been there before and I know that sometimes the label doesn't have to be there for things to work like that."

Again, Nikki glanced at Sybil, her mouth agape in frustration. "What are you talking about? You and Tom—"

"Weren't official until right before I left to come here," Sybil finished for her.

"What are you talking about?"

"We weren't," Sybil confirmed.

Nikki sat back in her chair, waiting for the setting spray that created a dewy finish to her skin to dry. "So what? I don't get it. How were you together then?" Sybil looked to Nikki, shooting her a glare that spoke more than words ever could. "Wait, you're not a virgin?"

Sybil scooted back in her chair, oblivious to the looks both girls were getting. "What? No!"

"I just thought…"

Sybil furrowed her brows. "I mean, there's nothing wrong with being a virgin, but what makes you think that?"

Nikki shrugged then moved close to the mirror again to apply her lipstick. "I don't know. You just seem like a virgin."

"I don't know what that means," Sybil repeated.

"Colin just said you required a bit of work to loosen up when you first worked together. And you were kind of a bitch when you first got here..."

"Well, so were you. But let's put it this way: I'm certainly not stiff with Tom," Sybil said, raising her eyebrows before allowing herself to wear a healthy flush and a smirk. The rest of the room witnessed it too as Sybil proudly stood up and walked to the rolling rack carrying all the girls' costumes for the showcase. Feeling a sudden confidence, she flipped through each outfit before finding her own. As she turned back to Nikki, she was still smiling, as her hands worked quickly to snap the enclosures that kept the basque of the tutu tight upon her hips. With the tutu now extending flat away from her waist, Sybil turned toward the door and bent over, flipping the tulle material up to expose her covered backside.

Nikki's mouth dropped open. When she was over the shock of her friend's revelation and the boldness that followed, she called after her. "Sybil Crawley!"

In the hallway, Sybil smiled at Colin who stood off with a few of his friends, some of them sitting on the table near the wall, drinking water, discussing their plans for the summer. Recently, Colin had received a contract from San Francisco, and just like all the others, he kept quiet about it, waiting for his parent's input before he made his own decision public. Though she'd never tell Sybil, Nikki was taking the news especially hard, revealing that she felt, as if for the first time, Colin would accept the terms negotiated despite the company not being a top choice. Sybil smiled before the truth set in, reminding her that this must have been what Tom felt like at finding she was accepted to Juilliard. It was all she wanted, and therefore, he wanted that for her, even if it meant sending her a thousand miles away to achieve it.

Sybil darted into the restroom to check her makeup underneath the low watt institutional lighting, and smiled, rather cheesily, seeing that it looked the same as it did back in the dressing room. For a second she thought she might have to use the bathroom, but shook the feeling off as nothing more than nerves. She hadn't drank enough water for that to be possible, and what she had sipped felt as if it was seeping from her pores. When she left the bathroom, she fanned at herself, hoping the uneasy feeling she had would subside soon.

When it refused to do so, she quickly texted Tom, asking where they were eating for dinner. He responded, her phone vibrating, but only after her phone was pressed to her ear waiting for someone else's voice on the line.

"Sybil?"

"Mary, hi!"

"Sybil, darling, it's almost midnight!"

Sybil looked to her phone, which counted the seconds spent making the call, taking up the space where the time should be. "Oh, I'm sorry!" she said, placing a palm to her forehead. "I forgot! I just wanted to say hi."

"Darling, your show starts soon. Are you okay? Is everyone there, I hope? Tom's there, right?"

Sybil nodded. "Yeah, why wouldn't he be?"

Mary sighed. She sat up in bed and sent a confused look to Matthew who had only just finished reviewing documents given to him at work that day. They were just about to turn off the light and go to bed when the phone rang. "Why are you calling me?"

"I don't know. It seemed silly to call Tom, I suppose. And this is the first show I'm doing where you're not here…" Sybil tried to explain. Her own words surprised her, as she also was a bit confused as to why she was calling her eldest sister.

Mary sighed. "Yes, I suppose it is. You know we would have loved to be there, Matthew just couldn't afford the time off of work and we really didn't want to pull Max out of school."

"Oh, I know. It's fine. I just—"

"Sybil, it's almost seven, dear."

"Okay," Sybil sighed. Whatever she was looking for was still missing, and at this point, she was doubtful that she would ever find it.

Mary looked to Matthew and smiled. "Break a million legs, my beautiful sister."

It was Sybil's turn to sigh, and as she leant back against the concrete wall, her mouth also pulled into a lazy smile. "Thanks Mary. Love you," she added.

"Love you too, bug. Now go get them, alright? And call me as soon as you land! We can't wait to see you!"

"Same!" Sybil choked out.

Still at his seat, Tom waited for Sybil to respond to his latest text, asking her if she was excited for dinner. He smiled as it came, a bubbly "YES!" he could just see her typing, her eyes wide and her lips pulled into a smile as she imagined the fruity drink she would order and the appetizers, the main dish, and the dessert they would share. He assumed that she hadn't eaten, as she, like the other dancers, hated the bloated feeling that came with a full meal before a performance. However, unlike the other girls, she had no qualms about giving her body exactly what it craved afterwards. Sybil once told Tom she couldn't understand it all; the eating disorders that riddled girls who danced and drove them mad. It was difficult to comprehend how you could be so cruel to the part of you meant to work at its best. A thin frame was nothing but beautiful, if it didn't have the strength to move across a brightly lit stage.

"Where are we going?"

"Per Se," Tom texted back. He could only imagine Sybil looking up the menu on her phone, receiving glares from the girls around her that were too full of their own insecurities and self-doubt to do the same. She must have done something similar too, because silence filled the line, causing Tom to look around before opening up the program he was handed at the door.

Pretty folded card stock paper made a small booklet, detailing the order of events, those who needed to be thanked, and then finally, the student dancers. Biographies, and with them, small black and white photos lined the last few pages, all of them organized by year, and then alphabetically by last name. His eyes scanned, catching only when he saw Sybil's headshot. In it, she looked just as stunning as she always did, with her long hair pulled back into a low hanging chignon. She was smiling, and her eyes were bright, resting naturally, making Tom wonder if she was actually laughing when the photo was taken. It wasn't difficult for Sybil to look this way, and effortlessly so. He remembered the day she had gone into the city to have them taken, and when the prints arrived to Downton a few weeks later, she neglected to show them to Tom, going on about how silly they were. "You've seen my face," she said. Tom could only smile then as he did now. Yes, he had seen her face a million times before. He had seen it overjoyed, deeply upset, and contemplative. He saw her smile falter in anger, and her head drop back as she laughed. He had seen perhaps more than she ever planned to show the world, maybe even him, and like her headshot it was all very genuine.

To the right of Sybil's photo was her biography, something she'd also say was silly, as he imagined her writing it with urgency, despite having multiple weeks before it was due. Sybil had the uncanny ability of being confident in herself while also finding much of her actions to be mediocre, and when they received praise, overrated. Few times in her life had she ever accepted the lovely things said about her. The last, and most frequent of those times being each utterance of "I love you" from Tom.

_**Sybil Crawley (Shades Dancer/Soloist)**__ - is a freshmen hailing from a small town outside of London, UK. Sybil began dancing ballet when she was four years old and has been specializing in pointe work since she was nine. It is her dream to someday become a ballet mistress for a large company. She would like to thank all of her instructors, back home and at Juilliard, for always pushing her, and to her parents and family, for doing their best to support her in this journey. And to Tom - thank you for everything, always. _

Slowly, Tom looked up. He wondered if Robert and Cora had read the program, to which he guessed they had not, as they only now were departing from their discussion with friends and fellow patrons to take their seats. His eyes adjusted to the room, now almost full, with everyone moving quickly in preparation for the start of the performance. Tom wondered if the backstage area was similar, but then remembered the surprising calm always evident whenever he used to visit Sybil back home. Though on a smaller scale, the backstage wings of the venues she performed in, were normally fairly quiet, with boys and girls stretching and some just waiting, peacefully. The haste that existed here was out of excitement for the unknown, the same dances and movements all of the students had rehearsed for months now. Tom was excited too, but not even an ounce of worry weighed him down. He was confident that in all that Sybil would do, doubtful that anything but the most honest and beautiful steps would be included in her routines.

Though Tom had little mind to comment on the other dancers, he was right. With his eyes permanently glued on Sybil and the way she moved, he wore a smile when she entered for her first performance in the Kingdom of the Shades sequence from La Bayadere. They had seen the ballet together a few years ago after Martha had bought them tickets. It was pretty then, but even more stunning now as it was made personal. Each arabesque, all thirty nine of them, seemed flawless, and though they wouldn't seem as such if they weren't in sync with the rest of the girls, Tom couldn't help but to think Sybil looked perfect, and the way in which she moved was without effort.

When all the girls breathed, Sybil breathed, even their diaphragms moving on the same downbeat. Tom would never admit this to Sybil, but this was when the moment when it all came alive. Watching her, and the way her silhouette moved, it seemed much different than it had before. Somehow to him, she was a principle dancer. And in a number that depicted a hallucination, all was calm and stable.

What Tom didn't know, was that even Sybil felt her ankles wobble a few times, as each arabesque and bend was taken ever so slowly. Coming in on the ramp, she almost lost her balance, but allowed her satisfied smirk to remain, as her eyes trained on the rest of the girls, moving only when their bodies did, practically giving her permission to echo their steps. Even her solo, with her highlighted under the light, spinning in and around the space shared with the rest of the girls, felt rushed out of nervousness. During her last dip though, one of her senior friends smiled, assuring the younger girl that she was doing just fine. She hoped that it looked as good as it felt, but all was only confirmed when the dance was over, and the girls posed as a group, immediately receiving an uproar of applause.

It wasn't until Sybil was offstage that she took it all in, but even then, the rest of the girls took their cues from one another, gauging that the performance went extremely well, but could still use some work. To the audience, it was amazing, and Sybil remembered when her and Tom had seen the same dance performed, leaving after, praising the corps for such synchronization. She wondered if the girls at the Royal Ballet thought the same thing after exiting the stage.

Now, with her first dance over and done with, Sybil stood silently in the wings, watching Colin and Nikki perform together. When they were done, she told them how wonderful their performance was, and as they disappeared off down the hall, Sybil stole away to text Tom, asking him what he thought of the opening number.

When he didn't respond, she shook her head, feeling stupid for thinking his cell phone would be on and in use during such an importance performance. Even so, she felt a bit betrayed. She needed his words now to tell her how wonderful she was. It would make all that was coming that much easier to handle.

Sybil stopped back into the dressing room to change. Off came the tutu, and the leotard, and even the stockings. She stood in nothing but underwear, with one arm clinging to her chest as the other reached down into her bag to retrieve her next costume. With the items, she skipped over to the changing flats behind the door and disappeared behind them. When she came out, wearing an outfit similar to many of the ones she had rehearsed in during the past few weeks, she began to take out the bobby pins in her hair. Even then, her hair didn't move, telling Sybil that the hairbrush she soon put to it would also be a challenge. The activity, though, made her forget about Tom. As she smoothed out the last kink, she spritzed her hair with shine spray, hoping that Tom was even enjoying the performances. She didn't dare think of her parents. Their opinion didn't matter anymore, she thought, needing the words in her head to convince herself of the same.

Before leaving the dressing room, Sybil stuck her head out into the hall like a child waiting to be caught and sent back to bed. She moved just as slow as she had on stage, with her feet in their pointe shoes again, pointed out and toward the backstage area where Colin stood by himself. He smiled when he saw her, and as she got closer, he reached his arm out to pull her in. "You ready?"

"I feel like I'm going to die."

Colin laughed. "That bad?"

"I just wish the other dance was after this. Give my parents and everyone else something to remember me by."

"Sybil," Colin began, "they pick the order based on what they want to show. They don't think of parents or friends or even boyfriends. They do it to make all of us look good. They put you near the end because despite what you want, they want recruiters to see you. Maybe you won't get signed this year, but I know they've talked to a few American companies about you. We're much more lenient here about our ballet mistresses, you know."

Sybil bumped Colin with her hip, as if to tell him to stop teasing. "I don't care about all of that."

Colin looked straight forward again. "Sure. But seriously, Sybil, this is just another dance. Just another time you and I are going to go through this. It's just like all the other times."

"I wish that were true."

He dropped his arm from around her shoulder. "Who says it can't be? Now C'mon!" he said, his voice cheery now. "The dance before us just got on."

Sybil remembered being pulled to the backstage wing where her entrance was planned for and she remembered smiling at Colin, even when the dance before hers ended and her own music started. What she didn't remember was all that came after that and how she moved alone, then with Colin, then alone again. It was hypnotic in a way, how her body was able to bend without breaking, and move so gracefully without permission. It reminded her of something her grandmother had told her long ago: "You do not dance because you want to Sybil. Plenty of girls want to dance, but you, my dear, dance because you must."

She understood that now, nearly ten years later. Her body was not her own, and it existed in this given up state only one other time: when she was with Tom, lost in their lovemaking, moving only when he did. Like then, she was unselfish, and when it was time for Colin to make his entrance, she remembered the attitude they rehearsed, and how her body would soften against his touch, especially when he reached under her thighs to lift her high above his head.

It scared her, and maybe him too, how parts of the dance she had struggled with were suddenly made easier, the more her body surrendered to the music. In particular, the way her foot caught on his and she was sent spinning, her face almost hitting the floor if Colin didn't pick her up at the last minute and easily toss her form over his shoulder.

At another moment, perhaps her most vulnerable, Sybil willed herself not to cry, thinking how senseless it was that this song somehow made complete sense now.

_"I've been afraid of changing  
__'Cause I've built my life around you…"_

It wasn't until this lyric played for the second, and last time, that Sybil understood its meaning. As she pirouetted, her feet then came to rest securely on the ground, no longer en pointe. Her face was just inches from Colin's, and the two looked as if they might kiss.

_"But time makes you bolder  
__Even children get older  
__I'm getting older, too."_

Just as they had rehearsed, Sybil pulled away, and smiled at Colin, before pushing at his chest, sending him dancing offstage. It wasn't goodbye, just a necessary distance, one that allowed Sybil to continue moving and bending and twirling upon the stage all by herself.

Watching this, Tom knew what it all meant, and he too had to stop himself from shedding a tear. Instead, he dropped his head down to cover his mouth with his hand. With his elbow resting on the armrest separating his chair from Cora's, he continued to watch the rest of her dance. He was distracted, but in the best way. She was smiling, not because Colin had left the stage, but because she knew she could dance on her own, without him, and just as well, too, if not better. He had helped to highlight her, and all the fascinating things about her body and the way it moved, and now it was her turn to prove herself under a single moving spotlight in front of a packed house of nearly one thousand people.

Sybil moved until she didn't anymore, with the music stopping just as she settled into a pas de bourree. From there, she moved to the edge of the stage, not en couru, but with actual steps, her feet flat against the soft marley. She bowed, accepting the raucous applause being offered, and just before she went to exit the stage, her eyes caught onto Tom's. He smiled and clapped just like all the others and she mouthed a small "I love you" that she hoped only he would see. He must have, because he shook his head and laughed, knowing no other way to show her how amazed he was by what she had just done, and how proud too, at her ability to show such emotions without saying a single word.

Offstage, Colin lifted Sybil up into his arms, the two still high on the energy they created onstage. They spun around, much differently than before, with Colin holding Sybil flush against his body, her limbs stiff and unyielding as he told her how great she was. When he placed her back down, Sybil smiled, and hugged Colin, thanking him for all he had done to help her. "I owe you, you know."

Colin shook his head. "Actually," he said, resting a hand on his hip. "I have something to show you."

Once again, he grabbed her hand and dragged her out of the backstage area and toward the dressing rooms. They passed the girls dressing room, and unable to stop them, Sybil found herself pulled into the men's dressing room where a few of the boys were getting changed. She blushed and did her best to avert her eyes from the same boys she had grown to know and love over this past year. Some of them had shown similar, but more deep affections to her, and were let down to find that she had a boyfriend back home to whom she was incredibly faithful to. Still, they waved at Sybil and smiled as she told them how her dance went after they had asked.

"Here," Colin finally offered, digging the item out of the depth of his studio bag. "I wanted to tell you first."

"Tell me what?" she asked, still not looking at the paper.

"I got in!" He exclaimed. "They want me!"

Sybil looked down, her eyes finally catching on the words typed simply on the document Colin had handed her. Phrases like "thank you" and "we accept" and "training begins" all formed into sentences that confirmed that Colin had been accepted to one of the various companies he had sent a video of he and Sybil performing to.

"Which one?" Sybil asked. She looked up, searching his eyes for an answer. Like everyone else, she knew about San Francisco, and she was wondering momentarily if Colin was unaware of this being public information.

Colin only smiled and reached down to point to the bottom of the paper, where a name Sybil was familiar with was both printed and signed. "The National? The English National Ballet wants you?"

Colin slumped. "Well don't look so surprised!"

"Ahhh!" Sybil squealed before reaching up to hug him once again. "Colin! Are you going to accept?"

"What do you think?"

Sybil looked to the paper then back up to Colin again. "You better! This is one of your top three companies! Do you know how close we'll be? Tom's apartment isn't that far from the warehouse they practice in!"

"I want to. Accept, I mean," Colin clarified. "I just wonder if maybe they accepted me because of you."

Sybil's smile fell. "What?"

"Well you were in the video with me."

"Yes, but I didn't apply, Colin. This letter is addressed to you," she stated, rather firmly. "They want you."

"I hope they want me. I was beginning to think—"

Sybil stepped into him. She gripped his hand in her own, ignoring the looks they were undoubtedly receiving from the rest of the room. "No. It's not over. It was never over. I knew you'd get something soon. It just took some patience and a lot of hard work!"

"And Nikki?" he asked

Sybil smirked, seeing this as an opportunity to lighten the mood. "She'll be fine with it. Last time I checked, she told me you two weren't even dating."

Colin sighed. "You're being a brat."

"Okay," Sybil sighed. "Listen, she'll be so so proud of you, Col. Like, so proud. And if it's meant to work out, it will. But right now you have to do what's best for you and just hope she'll be supportive. As a friend, or whatever else."

Colin nodded. "You're right."

Sybil reached up to wrap an arm around Colin's neck, pulling him close. "Of course I am!"

"Are you going to miss me?"

Sybil dropped her arm from around Colin's neck. "Hell no! Now change and we can walk out together. I want to see Tom."

"Thank you for, as usual, making this moment all about yourself."

With her body halfway out the door now, Sybil pushed her head back in the room and stuck her tongue out at Colin. He laughed, and Sybil waved to the rest of the boys, before telling Colin she'd meet him by the back staircase leading up into the lobby.

Sybil rushed to the dressing room. Inside, she threw all of her things, her makeup bag, her costume, and her water bottle, into her studio bag. Then, she changed, not caring if anyone saw her naked form as she pulled on a simple black dress, with lace sleeves and a form fitting line. True to her character, she shoved her feet into her favorite pair of white hi-tops, which she rolled down and tied to somehow make work with her otherwise elegant ensemble.

In the hall, Nikki and Colin waited, and Sybil stood back for a moment, clearly giving the two time to finish the conversation they were having. Silently, she found herself thanking Tom, and maybe a higher being above, for never making their time together like this. Although incredibly complicated and sometimes difficult, in ways they wished to forever leave in the past, there was never a question of Sybil dancing or Tom working as a journalist. The support they had for one another could perhaps be attributed to their friendship, but meant more romantically, when the two realized their choices to exist separate of one another had somehow bonded them. Of course Sybil wasn't comparing Nikki and Colin to her and Tom. She loved the two, but that was an accolade you couldn't even work to achieve. Though her and Tom could never quite grasp it, they were born into these roles, and destined in a way, to become friends and love each other in the way they had, in the way they did.

"Ready?" Sybil beamed cheekily. "I'm hungry."

The three friends began to walk. "You're always hungry," Nikki commented.

"Am not," Sybil spat back as she pushed through the doors heading upstairs.

"I'll miss this next year," Colin stated simply.

"What?" Nikki asked, her voice almost perturbed by his statement.

"You two. Bickering."

Sybil's mouth dropped open. "Um, we're not bickering."

"Yeah, totally not bickering." Nikki agreed. "Why do people always think we're bickering?"

Colin dropped his head back to laugh. They were at the top of the landing now, and several other dancers shuffled past them as they all came to stand still. "Give me a hug, Syb. I know that the minute we go out there, we'll lose you."

Sybil stepped in to hug Colin, then Nikki. "And what about me?" Nikki asked.

"I want you to meet my parents," Colin stated, before dragging the girl off, out the door with little time to protest. Sybil put her hands on her hips and laughed, then reached out to open the door, revealing a crowded lobby where her fellow classmates stood talking to friends, family, and faculty underneath a large crystal chandelier.

She looked around, her eyes scanning the room before catching on Tom, standing off to the side with Robert and Cora. She wasn't aware, but her feet moved quickly, running at Tom, until she was in his arms, with him spinning the two of them around the minute her weight was off the ground. Instantaneously, her lips were against his, seeking him out, gripping onto the back of his head to deepen it all. Something that took hours in a practice room with Colin was engrained within her with Tom, and she kissed his lips in appreciation.

After another long, passionate kiss, Sybil pulled away, and dropped her forehead down to Tom's. "Hi, baby," she whispered before pecking at his lips again.

"You were," he tried, but stopped himself. Tom exhaled and used the time it gave him to find the right words, though he knew none existed to properly describe her beauty. He settled on "I love you" with his voicing coming out much like a question, hoping it was enough.

Sybil beamed and kissed him again, using the time for her feet to settle back onto the marble below. "Did you like it?"

"I loved it!" Tom assured. "You were great, Syb!"

He pulled her into another hug, one where he buried his face in her hair and whispered into her ear how proud of her he was. It was as if this was information he didn't want the world to hear. When he pulled away, he handed her her flowers, which Sybil immediately brought to her nose to smell. The stunning arrangement of twenty-five red roses were just as beautiful as the white roses her parents handed her next. Somehow though, Tom's arrangement meant more, wrapped in simple newspaper, and a thick twine, classic of her favorite street florist uptown. Sybil made a mental note to thank Tom later, for the flowers, and for all of the other things he had given her just by being there.

* * *

You know the drill, I really urge you to tell me what you think! Good, bad, whatever. And again, thanks for reading!

x. Elle


	28. We Are Birds

**A/N:** Ahhh! I wanted to get this posted earlier as a huge THANK YOU for all of the lovely reviews! I swear, sometimes it just takes an annoying nudge from yours truly for readers to come out of the woodwork. Still, thank you. And better late than never, right?

As I said on tumblr, there are some very big chapters coming, ones that I want to devote the proper writing attention to before posting. They need to be perfect if I want to get the emotions right, so I'd be lying if I said I knew when the next chapter would be posted. It's already written, but it's dicey. So basically maybe it's good this was posted a bit later than originally planned, to keep some consistency between chapters.

ALSO! What an awful person I am. I never thanked everyone for the Highclere Awards I received for _On The Other Side_. I used to think I was such an underdog posting that story, only to find out that not only was it nominated for awards, but it won! What an honor, so again - THANK YOU!I try not to take that stuff too seriously, but I'd be lying if I said it didn't truly mean a lot to me to know that people not only read, but appreciate my work.

* * *

"Her wings are spread,  
She's stuck here on the ground  
She's not heavy, she's my world  
I'll carry her around  
I hear her breathing, that's my favorite sound  
If you're a bird, then I'm a bird  
But if you cant fly then neither will I  
Cause 'in love' is not the right time to die..."  
_We Are Birds_ - Brighten

* * *

When Tom first texted Sybil to inform her that they would be eating at Per Se, she wasn't at all surprised. The restaurant had been a favorite of her parents and she too had enjoyed a meal there from time to time. From the fifth floor of the Time Warner Center, you could see all of Columbus Circle, and the atmosphere inside the dining room, a wide open room with tables covered in white linen, was inviting compared to the other restaurants in New York her family had always tried to bring her to.

Somehow, Tom fit in here best, or at least better than she did, or felt she did. As they were escorted to their reserved table with Cora following Robert, Tom leaned into Sybil, offering up a comforting hand to the small of her back. Sybil looked over her shoulder, smiling at him, deciding she had no words that would ever tell him how grateful she was for him. She had a million other things to tell him as well, but soon they were at the table, and Sybil found herself distracted by the way Tom immediately unfolded his napkin after sitting, causing her to forget that he was once known as the son of her family's housekeeper.

"I'm so nervous," Sybil whispered, her fingers running along the seam of her cloth napkin now laid out neatly in her lap.

Tom looked to her and smiled from out behind his glass of water. "Why?"

Sybil looked down. "I don't know. Something seems off."

"You're paranoid," Tom countered. He knew now, after nineteen years, exactly how Sybil's mind worked. It was not that she didn't believe in herself, or had a concrete reason to doubt who she was and the talent she had, but instead that the insecurities in which her family had somehow became her own. Tom swore it was related to her father's affair, and how mad she was at herself then and how even though she would doubt it, how angry she still was because it all affected her just as it had almost four years ago. Tom wanted to be Sybil's first everything, and he was, but he was glad he wasn't her first heartbreak. That was a title claimed by her father, one he would give to Robert if only it meant that he could have the rest of Sybil, and do his best to repair these parts of her, if only she'd let him.

Sybil poked at Tom's side and he spasmed, bending his body sideways to avoid her touch. He let out a small yelp, one that made Sybil laugh out loud, earning them both stern looks from Robert and Cora. Still, in her embarrassment, Sybil shared a smirk with Tom, and the two fought the urge to laugh again, if only to irritate her parents.

"What prix fixe option are we getting, Papa?" Sybil asked, looking up from her menu.

Robert looked to Sybil then back down to his own menu. "I was thinking the Chef's menu looked good."

"We got the Chef's menu last time," Cora reminded with a heavy sigh. Still, she was smiling, reminding her daughter of the woman she never wanted to be.

Sybil smiled back, doing her best to keep the peace. It was a role she had unknowingly accepted all those years ago when Edith moved out. It was the same reason she went to visit Cambridge and excelled in her A-level classes; this, like many things in life, were all a game, and if she played them correctly, she was awarded with civil conversation between her parents at the dinner table and less shouting from behind their bedroom door at night. It was this job that Tom did wish to take her away from. He was no knight in shining armor, because he didn't believe Sybil needed saving, but he would help her in the best way he knew how, by being supportive and loving, and never once allowing her to doubt herself, and now, what they were as more than friends. Somehow the two were synonymous.

"Tom, what were you thinking?" Cora asked.

Everyone at the table looked up, surprised at the woman's question. It was the first time in a long time, maybe since Tom's mother's passing when they were trying to coddle the child to ensure he was comfortable in their home, that they had even considered asking his opinion. Though they'd never admit it, the acknowledgement fell away only when they realized they would always have Tom's opinion. Maybe not directly, but his presence in Sybil's life had always been enough to make her opinions his own. It wasn't about control in the way Robert's relationship with Sybil was. The bond that existed between Tom and Sybil that allowed these similar viewpoints was about togetherness, but first, respect.

"I'd like the Chef's menu as well, but really, either look fine."

Sybil reached across the table to stroke Tom's hand. Sometimes it made her laugh how agreeable he was when trying to be polite. Somehow his mother had raised a boy that knew when to stand his ground, and when to raise the white flag, equating the latter to victory anyway. Sybil would never have a chance to thank Mrs. Branson for this, but it was both Tom's words and those he didn't speak that kept her heart beating heavily, needing and wanting him in the way she did.

"Do you think they'd allow us to do both? Tom and Papa can get the Chef's menu and you and I the vegetable option, Mama."

Cora smiled at her daughter. "I'm sure they'll make an exception," she said sweetly.

A waitress came over and took their drink orders. Tom and Sybil settled with their water, but on the car ride over, Sybil had whispered to Tom about the possibility of going out that night, just the two of them in a crowded city pub. She wanted to dance with him now that he was here. She wanted his eyes on her hips and his lips on her earlobe, promising her wonderfully dirty things in the back of a small nightclub. They could have drinks then, when her own parents weren't there to scrutinize.

Wine was poured, and shortly thereafter, the first course was brought out. It was one of nine, dished perfectly in the center of a large white bowl with a wide brim. It was colorful, but looked to be no bigger than a few bitefuls, if that. But as Tom and Sybil dug into their dishes they both blinked tightly, savoring the light flaky taste of a puff pastry with French truffle.

"It was really nice what Miss LoTempo said about your dancing, darling. It seems she's quite fond of you," Cora commented. She set down her glass of wine and then smiled at the waitress who immediately appeared over her shoulder to refill it. On their way out of the theatre, several of Sybil's teachers stopped them, congratulating Sybil on such a daring performance.

_"Your daughter is quite the dancer, Mr. and Mrs. Crawley. You should be proud of this one," Miss LoTempo said. Then, she pulled Sybil in close and cupped her cheeks and kissed her forehead. In any other university this would have been considered inappropriate, but as Sybil defended her entire life, ballet was different, and the way in which dancers and their instructors act is unlike any other student-teacher relationship in existence. There is an intimacy, and like she had with Tom, a respect, that comes when someone critiques the way your body moves, pushing it to do such physically straining things, all the while praising your steps with words that make it all seem so natural. _

_As she pulled away, she said something that only Sybil could hear: "No Clare De Lune, darling."_

_Sybil looked up and smiled, suddenly filled with the urge to cry. "No Clare De Lune," she repeated, and then Miss LoTempo stepped back and straightened up and walked away, acting as stiff and as reserved as she always had been. The moment was gone but Sybil vowed to remember those words forever, knowing they meant so much more than the obvious._

"I suppose," Sybil said, swallowing the last bite of her first meal. She pushed the plate forward before proceeding to dap at her lips with the napkin on her lap. "She was hard on me at first. I don't really think she liked me, but at least now I think she respects me as a dancer."

"There were casting directors there tonight," Robert commented, throwing a quick glance to Sybil before taking a strong swig of his scotch. He set down the low ball glass and the ice clinked in the silence. "Nothing like Bolshoi, of course, but Joffrey was there. Why didn't you apply there again?"

"You didn't even approve of Juilliard, Papa. Why would I apply anywhere else? Even this was a shot in the dark. Now suddenly you're on board?"

Robert said nothing. Avoiding his daughter's gaze was something he had learned over the years. To catch her eye was to let her see his own vulnerability, something he was taught at a young age that a man should never do. This was a talent lost on the youngest Crawley sister.

The second course was delivered and Sybil thanked the waitress, not only for the food, but for the opportunity it gave her to avoid her mother's glance as she pushed at the soup with her spoon. "I wanted Juilliard. It's harder to get into than any of the companies, which you know I didn't want to apprentice for anyway!" Robert looked away, blinking quickly. Sybil did her best to remain calm, staring down at her place setting with her hands resting firmly in her lap. "I needed the challenge. I knew that to become the best ballet dancer I can be I had to open myself up to other forms of dance. That's why I rejected the offer to learn specifically through SAB," Sybil stated, commenting on the School of American Ballet which focused on preparing dancers for work with the New York City Ballet.

"That's the first time you've said that," Cora commented. It was simple, but it made Sybil look up at her, if only briefly.

"I'm sorry," Sybil choked out, before bringing her soup up to entertain her lips with the warm broth of her puree. Tom just watched, waiting for the right moment to intervene, but knew that as it was many times before, that moment would never come.

"I don't understand why if you're so good, you didn't get the lead in that Balanchine piece," Robert commented, now chewing on a pea. This time, he allowed his eyes to train on his youngest daughter, knowing the exact impact they'd have, as it was one very similar to the impact his words were having.

"Nikki was the right choice," Sybil assured. "It was an honor to be chosen for the Shades portion of the number, and I honestly think that was more challenging. It was thrilling to practice control in a corps setting."

The way Sybil's face lit up discussing her performance did not go unnoticed by Tom.

"I've accepted that Cambridge is not your path. I've really accepted that this is what you want to do with your life. I just feel as if you're limiting yourself here," Robert stated. "You cannot let others be better than you, Sybil. This is a competitive world you're entering and you must sharpen that backbone sooner rather than later."

Sybil rolled her eyes. "She's not better than me. We're two completely different dancers. I'm Paris, she's Russia."

"I think what your father is trying to say, darling, is that you've made this decision to attend Juilliard and now we just want to make sure you're using this time to reach your full potential, is all."

"No," Robert interjected. "What I'm saying is that I don't understand any of this. You did dance beautifully Sybil, but what a waste that dancing will be if you do not share it with others. Ballet teachers make a measly income - ask Miss Eleanor, she'll tell you. I think you'd be smart to finish your degree and join a company. Though I do fear that it may be too late at this point..."

"What if that's not what I want?"

The grip Robert had on his cutlery was strong. If it weren't for the third course being delivered, the tension would have persisted. Once the waiters were gone, however, the awkwardness reared its head, and Robert spoke up. "I think it's exactly what you want. Be honest with yourself, Sybil! Tom will be fine. He's not a boy anymore. He's over all of that. And if he loves you then he will support you."

Tom looked to Sybil, but already her eyes were welling up with tears, clouding her gaze so that she couldn't see much other than the outline of his face and the way his bottom lip hung open just waiting for her to answer all of the questions he had. It still amazed him that after all these years, they could still talk about him as if he was no longer in the room. Tom thought it would get easier, especially when he and Sybil were honest with everyone, and then again when she left for New York, but still, it lingered. He was different and always had been; he was only their adoptive son or Sybil's best friend and boyfriend when it was opportune for them to mention him in polite conversation. He sometimes felt as if he was nothing more than a matter of convenience, to show off their good nature, one he believed Robert and Cora were once filled to the brim with, but had been stripped of as time put a great strain on their marriage and therefore their family as well.

Unable to look to Tom for comfort, Sybil pushed back her chair. Her silverware was thrown down onto the table, creating a loud clanging noise as the metal hit the porcelain plate. Angrily, she threw down her linen napkin as well, and then balled her fist as she resisted the urge to yell, scream, stomp, or even spit in her How dare he claim her emotions as his own as if he somehow knew her decision to reject those contract offers all those years ago. How dare he finally start being honest with her now. It was a pain she could not handle, and she would not let her father embarrass her like this, not when Tom deserved to hear the truth from her own mouth, someday far in the future where time had somehow ensured that none of it would matter anymore. Already she could hear the words he'd say and was reminded of why she had kept quiet for so long.

She didn't bother to maintain composure. Sybil darted off quickly to the bathrooms in a back hallway of the restaurant, wiping at her eyes while her feet rushed her to her destination. As she approached the door, she put her hands out in front of her, praying to a power above that the restroom was unoccupied. It was, but by that time her eyes were so clouded over with tears she didn't care. There could have been a thousand people behind the door and she still would have collapsed in the way that she did, her head in her face, and her body huddled into a ball with her sneakers pressed flat atop the marble floor. In another world, one where her father wasn't cruel and her mother passive, she would have cared that the pretty dress she bought a week earlier was now touching the floor. It was true that this bathroom was most likely cleaner than most, and it smelled lovely, but it didn't negate the fact that it was a bathroom, one meant for public use by women who were both wealthy and important. Not once had she ever seen a girl close to her in age in here.

"Syb?" Tom asked through the door. "Can I come in?"

"No," Sybil pouted. She began to sob again, covering her face in the wad of tissue she had grabbed from the cabinet below the sink. She wondered what she looked like and then hated herself for caring, especially as Tom entered, his face and his shoulders dropping in compassion as he began to take her in.

He went to her right away, sitting beside her and instantly wrapping an arm around shoulders to pull her in close. As she leaned into him, he kissed her temple, and as if it was the only natural move in the world, Sybil dropped her head to his shoulder.

"I have been such a witch lately," she managed through another set of tears.

Tom looked down to her. "Syb…" his voice warned, wishing she wasn't always so hard on herself. In that moment he wondered how much more wonderful she'd be if her parents weren't always clipping at her wings, keeping her feet firmly on an unstable ground. Surely he wouldn't deserve her then, just as he sometimes felt he didn't deserve her now. Ugly parts, Tom reminded himself before placing another kiss to her hairline.

"Do you hate me? Am I exhausting? Am I just this emotional mess that everyone loves to rile up? Am I being ridiculous? Because really, I feel like the child they still want me to be."

"Sybil, you know none of that is true. At least not with me," Tom said. "I love you. I have always loved you," he emphasized, "and I will continue to love you even if you are a witch. But I promise you, love, you have not been. I don't mean to disrespect you but sometimes your parents..." Tom's voice trailed off. He was sure she would not be offended by his words but he still chose to keep himself from speaking them. It didn't matter what he thought of them, just as their opinion of him held little weight in his own life.

"I just—" Sybil sighed. "Where did that even come from?" She gestured to the door as if to reference her father and his harsh words. In reality, she was unsure of all of it; the large dining room with the fancy linens, her mother's tight lipped smile that spoke anything but comfort, and even the seemingly kind words that were spoken to her and about her earlier when she was leaving the theatre. The only thing that was certain was Tom, the boy sitting next to her who had inexplicably become a man. Everything about him was beautiful and it was her who felt undeserving of his love, though she was positive he'd never stop giving it.

"What's going on?"

Sybil sighed, her shoulders dropping and her body straightening out away from Tom as she did her best to find her own inner strength. "When did I start getting contracts?"

Okay, Tom thought. He would play this game if it meant making all of this easier for her. "You were thirteen when Bolshoi wanted you to come apprentice with them."

"Why do you think I didn't go?"

"You wanted to finish school," Tom said, recalling all of this. There were many conversations then, when it was just the two of them as best friends in that large estate. "You wanted to take your A-levels and go to Law School then."

Sybil shook her head. "I didn't want to leave you," she said simply.

Tom blinked. "What?"

"I didn't want to leave you," Sybil repeated. "I knew I could do it well. I knew I would be fine without you, I just didn't know if at that point you'd be fine without me. Your mom was gone for awhile at that point, I just thought of you at the house by yourself with Edith and my parents. I thought about only seeing you at Christmas and it all made me so sad. It drove me up a wall because I started realizing that if you're not fine, I'm not fine, you know? I was thirteen and I knew things I didn't admit to you until a few months ago. I knew that I needed you and you needed me and that my happiness was your happiness. And you know, maybe sometimes we don't want that. Maybe sometimes we hate the way our relationship is, but I'm not a martyr for not taking all of those offers because the truth is that if it were to make you miserable, I'd be miserable too because there's nothing I want less. "

"Syb—"

"I know. I know you're about to tell me to sign to a contract and I know you're about to tell me to do whatever I want because you'll support me. I get that now, Tom. And I love you for that. I am so in love with you for being so supportive. But we're different people now. If I want to sign to a company at the end of all of this, maybe I will. I just—" Sybil stopped herself. Awkwardly, she dabbed at her nose with the wad of tissue in her hand, an action that Tom thought was cute and he would have smiled at had she not felt so unattractive. "I'm not thirteen anymore. It wasn't right then and maybe it's not right now. I know you're not going anywhere. I know I am the luckiest girl in the world because you love me like this, crying in this bathroom. I'm sure people think—"

"Fuck what they think, Syb. Dear god," Tom said, dropping his head back against the tile. "I just wish I could shake you and force you to see how much more enjoyable life is when you stop letting other people rent space in your head."

"See! You're frustrated!"

"Yes, love, I'm frustrated. It breaks my heart to see you like this. So what if your dad hates me and thinks I'm the reason you've given up so many of your dreams? Do you feel like that?"

Sybil reached up to touch Tom's cheek. She needed to feel his skin, to run her fingers over his freshly shaven cheek in reassurance. "No. Never."

Tom looked straight ahead. Like Sybil, his feet were stretched out in front of him as well, and for the first time that night she noticed the shoes he wore; the same ones she had purchased for him for Christmas. He was so mature and wise in them, with their brown leather worn from days spent traveling around London for a story, ending in a heap of dirty clothes at the end of the day when Tom was too lazy to do much but undress himself before bed. Tom was moving on, or at least finding a way to exist now in this separate world, one that knew them as a couple, him as a journalist and she as a ballerina. Somehow Sybil and her trainers were far behind, still playing out moments that she held onto, like a child grasping for a monkey bar with hope vanishing as the feeling of their weight soaring to the ground took over, causing them to believe, if only for a moment that they could fly.

"I need to stop lying to myself. I am still so scared and I don't want to be."

Tom looked down to Sybil and again kissed her temple. This time though, she moved his head, guiding his lips down to hers in a kiss that left them both satisfied. It was slow and sweet and every bit what they needed. It reminded Tom of the teenage boy he once was with Sybil, and encouraged Sybil to be the woman Tom so obviously deserved. They had to meet in the middle, and Tom realized this was a resolve to do just that. Sybil would never be honest with the rest of the world, but she was always honest with him, as honest as a girl of her age could ever be, so vulnerable and tired on the cold bathroom floor.

"I'm always here, love," Tom reminded. "And I don't hate you," he said, with another kiss to Sybil's forehead that had her smiling. "I just think we need time. Time to figure all of this out. Just you and me. Forget them."

"Let's go to Cape Cod, Tom. You said you would. You said you'd let me move there. What if? What if we could live inside those summer days forever?"

"But we can't, Syb. It's time to face the world and stop running."

Sybil said nothing and instead played with Tom's hand, draped so delicately over her shoulder. "I love you," she offered. Suddenly she was embarrassed by how childish her words must have seemed. They weren't even children anymore and she was almost certain they were about to say goodbye to their teenage years as well. He was right, just as he always was; there was no use in running from all of this, not when it would surely use the distance as incentive to intensify and follow.

"Mean it?"

"Always."

"I love you too, crazy girl."

"Mean it?" She teased.

Tom nodded and kissed the tip of Sybil's nose. "Thank you for everything, always."

~!~

"Well you were no help tonight," Robert murmured as he exited the bathroom. He remembered a time when he and Cora would help one another get ready for bed but could not for the life of him remember when it all stopped. Marriage was not a black and white thing and yet they had allowed it to be that simple, as if one night they just agreed to stop being in love with one another.

Cora sat at a vanity much like the one she had back home, dabbing cream to the bags under her eyes. In a fashion that few saw, she rolled her eyes at her husband before turning around, leaning a hand down onto the cushioned seat she sat upon to support her as she took Robert in. "And you were? Honestly, Robert, she danced beautifully. Leave it at that."

"Leave it at that? I complimented her several times. Once at the theatre, again on the ride to the restaurant and then again at dinner."

"Did you want a medal, dear?" She guffawed and turned back to the mirror to fix her hair.

"This is your fault! You encourage her with how nice you are to Branson and how supportive you have been of her going away to school. She needs to know what is expected of her. I'm not going to pay for her to have four years of fun in New York only to not be able to find work. She should have just signed to Bolshoi when she had the chance!"

"You know she hates the Russians."

Robert laughed. "She'd do well to be disciplined by them."

Again, Cora turned back to her husband. "How cruel you were to say what you said tonight at dinner. It was not your place and you have no evidence to support your claim."

"Oh, c'mon Cora! You know he's the reason she never accepted those contracts."

"And yet he's the one that pushed for her to go to New York."

Robert was speechless now, causing him to flop down onto the edge of the bed to sit. "This is exhausting. I feel as if we have really lost control of her."

Cora stood now, marching right over to her husband to stand in front of him with her arms crossed stiffly over her chest, causing the silk bathrobe she wore to pucker.

"Control? You cannot control her, Robert! Sybil has always been her own girl, and now she is becoming her own woman. We couldn't control Mary and Edith, so what makes you think our most liberal daughter will somehow be any different?" She sighed and touched a hand to her forehead. "Parenting is not about control, Robert. Need I remind you of all the things we once wanted for our children? If you can recall, none of them were tangible. Things like encouragement and unconditional love and guidance are what parenting is all about. I'm just sorry you've forgotten that."

"Someone needs to help her realize her potential."

"She feels she has!" Cora yelled. "This is not about you! But you're right, this is exhausting. I am exhausted," she emphasized before softening. "You know what I realized on the plane ride over? This has nothing to do with us," Cora stated simply. "If we say 'yes', she goes to Tom. If we say 'no', she goes to Tom. She will always choose Tom, Robert! Why won't you get that? And if you do, is that really the worst thing? I have made myself sick over this. How did we not know? How can we know so little of our own daughter? But you know what, she is happy. I see that now. The dancing and Tom and the independence. This is what she has always wanted and I'm sick of fighting her about it. If these are her choices then we need to let her make them. I see no good in stopping her now."

"I assume you intend to let her live with Tom now?"

"No," Cora brushed off with a laugh. "She is still my daughter and I won't tolerate that. It's highly inappropriate and altogether unnecessary."

"Then what?"

Cora sighed and sat next to Robert on the bed. He looked at her, but she did not look back. Instead, her eyes were trained on the open closet door where her things and his things rested on separate shelves. "If the life we had imagined for her is not the life that she wants then we need to be supportive of the life she does want because at the end of the day, she'll want it anyway."

"It's not going to change," Robert said.

"I honestly don't think it will. Especially not with Tom. She may change her mind about the contracts and the companies but he'll still be here."

"I don't hate him."

"You could have fooled the rest of us."

"Well I don't, I just feel as if the respect we once had for one another was lost when I found out he'd been taking advantage of my daughter in my own home."

Unable to sit next to her husband when he said such outlandish things, Cora walked back to her vanity. "As far as I'm concerned, it was his home too. Where did you want them to go? But really Robert, if you believe that then you don't know either of them. Besides, as I've told you many times, what has happened in the past is done. You cannot change it but you can work to better the future. Sybil is a young woman now. It's written all across her face and she loves that boy. Maybe, we should add selective ignorance to the list of parenting skills we need to work on."

Robert tried to laugh, but was unable to. In a way, accepting that your youngest daughter was no longer a child was to face heartbreak and it was slow and more painful than he ever had imagined.

Cora sighed. As she turned off the vanity lights she walked to the bed and began to rid the mattress of the soft pillows resting perfectly against one another and the headboard. "I will say this Robert: Sybil is perhaps our most forgiving daughter, and for all of the nonsense you two have gone through, she still wants to make you proud. Just please do not push so hard that you push her away. She is strong, maybe stronger than we'd both like to admit but there is only so much a girl can take at that age."

~!~

On the other side of the suite, through heavy doors, past walls covered in a soft suede, Sybil walked quietly out of her room, bringing nothing with her but her cellphone. Her stomach grumbled, reminding her of the food she had not yet eaten. On the walk back to the hotel, Tom offered to buy her dinner somewhere, just as he had offered to pay Robert for his and Sybil's missed meals at the restaurant. Robert did not accept his money, and Sybil neglected to take him up on his offer, reminding Tom that perhaps Sybil and her father had more in common than they'd ever admit. The latter was something she immediately regretted, especially now as she saw the mini fridge in her bedroom was stocked only with beverages. There was a small plate of exotic fruits on a table in the front room, but Sybil craved something warm and much more substantial.

The light in her parent's room was on but she heard nothing, hoping that the rumblings of a fight she thought she heard while in the shower were nothing more than her own imagination. If they were fighting, she hoped it wasn't about her. It was enough to be upset with yourself without feeling as if your parents felt you were also unmanageable.

Outside of Tom's bedroom door, she knocked. When she heard nothing, she pushed in, not needing to turn the knob as the door was already slightly ajar. The room was relatively untouched and looked much like hers did with a rich leather nightstand and desk and soft linens atop the bed, already turned down. His suitcase was laid neatly against the wall outside of the closet, and the things that were once inside of it now hung in the closet above his brown leather oxfords. In her own room she had merely disheveled her suitcase, throwing her things around the room as she saw fit. Her bed too was already disheveled from when she first entered the room and sat down heavily upon it to rid her tired feet of the old shoes she wore.

As she stepped out of the closet she saw, and then smelled, the take out box arranged neatly on the table by the window. Atop the box that resembled a small pizza box was a note, and, in Tom's chicken scratch, words telling her he was outside if she wanted to join him.

Sybil smiled and tossed the note in the trash. With a new energy, she picked up the food he must have ordered for her and brought it out of Tom's room and down the hall to where the suite opened up to a terrace. Upon seeing her, Tom smiled, and then lifted the blanket he was laying beneath to invite her in. She handed him the food and did just that, before taking it all back again so she could inspect and discover what it was that smelled so good.

"I was just going to get you the pizza, but it had weird stuff on it so I got you the fries too," Tom explained. Sybil was sitting perpendicular to him now, her eyes already feasting on the pizza before her, covered with mushrooms, prosciutto, and a green she could only guess was arugula.

"Eat with me?" Sybil asked, her eyes wide allowing her shoulders to slump as she leaned into him to speak again before he had the chance to. "I know you're hungry!"

Tom moved so he was now facing Sybil, their knees touching to create a table for the small pizza and the box of fries to rest upon.

Sybil bit at a french fry, then looked to Tom, smiling, as she wiped her greasy fingers on the sweatshirt she wore. Like all of her nightclothes, it was his, and though she drowned in it, he'd have her no other way tonight under these city stars.

"Thank you," she said sweetly, and Tom knew she was not just referring to the food he had ordered for her and now helped her to eat. In fact, at that very moment she wanted to kiss the smirk off his face and thank him for being the her friend, her better half, her stable ground in an otherwise unsteady life.

The night, however, had other plans, as a rain drop, then several more began to fall quickly down onto the rooftop.

"Oh for Christ's sake!" Sybil stood and immediately grabbed the empty food containers before running for the sliding glass doors she felt she had only just entered through. Behind her, Tom ran as well, carrying the blanket and then shutting the door, closing the inside off from the outside. The hallway they stood laughing in was cast in a dull blue haze, echoing the rain painting the windows.

Again they ran, their feet as light as their hearts, even when they reached Sybil's bedroom. The food was stashed in the garbage by the door and the blanket thrown into the closet to dry in a messy heap on the floor before the door to her bedroom was closed. Sybil walked to Tom and ran her fingers through his hair, giggling again as droplets of water cascaded off of him and onto her. He stopped her only to walk to the bathroom and grab them a few towels. She took the one he handed to her and covered him with it, not caring that her own clothing was soaked through, and the hair she had in a simple plait was dripping at the end where it was tied off.

"Can we not have a simple night without the world having other plans?"

Tom kissed her nose. "Apparently not."

Sybil laughed again. She was unable to contain the happy energy within her. Some would call it a dancer's high, pointing to the endorphins pulsing through her bloodstream as a result of her performance. Somehow, Sybil knew better, and attributed it all to Tom and the way he was now looking at her as she raised her hands above her head allowing him to rid her upper body of his damp sweatshirt. He kissed her, softly at first, then much more deeply, with her fingers fisting at the material of his shirt until they both broke away, satiated.

In just the soft cotton of her underwear, Sybil jumped onto the bed and burrowed beneath the covers, pulling her legs to her chin as she did so. The bright smile she wore was invitation enough for Tom to join her. He kicked out of his jeans but left his shirt on and when he climbed onto the bed, straddling where she sat, he was confident with his choice, as her fingers worked slowly against his skin, performing the same way he had just done for her, as she aided him in removing his shirt and tossing it to the side. They were both smiling now, so lost in this moment of finally being together. The suite was lovely, but where they actually were was better; lost in a place between lovers and friends, but no longer scared to tell one another exactly how they felt.

The rhythm of the moment did not die, but changed, pulling both Sybil and Tom beneath the covers with noses almost brushing as they fought to see one another in the dark. Every blink of Sybil's dark lashes had Tom reaching out for her, tightening the lazy grip he already had as his arm rested on her hip. The deep red of Sybil's lips was intensified, and he controlled his urge to kiss her, if only to admire the fact that he was the one to give her pout that exact shade.

"What are you thinking?" Sybil asked, those same lips he was staring at pulling into another smirk.

Tom returned his gaze to her eyes, and she reached out, gently pushing back at his hairline. He smiled, and she followed suit, still lost though in the same things he was distracted by.

"Same," he whispered before leaning into kiss her.

"Thank you," Sybil said again, hoping to pick up where they left off outside. Tom furrowed his eyebrows in curiosity, so she continued. "For flying here with my parents, for coming to my show, for the food, and the blanket and the towels."

"You realize these are all very normal things for a boyfriend to do, right?"

"Well, thank you."

"Is this the part where I thank you?"

"No," Sybil snorted. "You don't have to say it. I get it."

"Yeah?" Tom reached out again, this time to push a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Yeah." Sybil averted his gaze before returning it with an intensity he hadn't seen in quite some time. "Can I ask you something?"

"Always." His hand was still cupping the side of her face, running soft circles on her earlobe and the nape of her neck.

"Is it frustrating to see me get upset with my parents when you—"

"Don't have any?" He finished for her. "Do you really think that?"

"Sometimes, maybe," Sybil settled. "We don't talk about it!"

"I don't feel the need. I can't do or say anything to bring them back and I know both my mam and dad would prefer I not waste my time harping on it."

"It's not a waste of time to miss someone." Sybil sighed. "You do miss them, right? I mean…"

"They're my parents, Syb. Of course I miss them."

She wanted to reach out for him again, and in doing so, apologize for the words she had said that clearly struck a chord. "I didn't mean to upset you. We don't have to talk about it."

"Hey, can I finish?"

Sybil put on a smile and nodded. "Yeah, sorry."

Tom smiled too. "You're right. I don't talk about them a lot, and maybe I should."

"Whatever you need."

"It's easier to not think about it. If I don't think about it, it didn't happen. It's like I never had parents. Like I've always been alone."

"Tom…" Sybil choked out.

It was his turn now to seek her out, to stroke her cheek and push away a tear that began to cascade down toward her chin. "Syb, please don't cry."

"I do. It makes me sad. And I don't want you to feel alone."

"But that's the thing, Syb, I don't feel alone. Your family, no matter how much they frustrate you, reminds me that I'm not alone, and no matter how hard your dad is on you and how much it sometimes really wants to make me punch him in the face," Sybil laughed, reaching up now to wipe at her own tears, "I know he loves you. And I know he's trying his best to figure this all out. And I know my dad would probably be the same way and my mam would be overjoyed that I finally told you how I felt. I don't know. It just all feels like this was how it was supposed to be. Do I wish my parents were here? Yeah, absolutely...everyday. But I'm doing okay and I know they'd be so proud. And they'd love you almost as much as I do."

"Almost?" Sybil teased.

"You have no idea, do you? I am so in love with you, Syb."

Heavy lidded, her eyes caught onto his. "I know. It's overwhelming, isn't it?"

"Like breathing underwater."

"And deciding you'll sacrifice the air if it means getting to swim for the rest of your life."

"Floating," he agreed.

"They don't think we can handle it. But I know we can. The heart's strong when you're this young. It feels everything. But it breaks as we grow older. I've seen it with my parents." Sybil exhaled. "Do you want to get married?"

"Now?" Tom asked with a laugh.

Sybil could only smile. "Not right now. Not today or this year even. But someday?"

Tom smiled. She was asking again. Sybil Crawley, his best friend and girlfriend had just asked him if he'd like to get married. "To you?" Tom teased.

Sybil sighed. "Just at all."

"Yes, I want to get married someday. And you?"

Sybil looked up to him now, her eyes burning into him, wishing they could offer more than just something to mirror off of. "I never used to think I did. I imagined you growing sick of me someday and finding a girl far lovelier than I had ever been. I thought I'd hate her, but I'd love you, and I'd be a fabulous auntie to your children…"

"And now?" Tom asked, if only to entertain her. He was also glad to cut her off, happy that this was clearly no longer a vision she held. "I'd like to know where these girls lovelier than you are hidden. Cause I have yet to find them…"

Sybil swatted his shoulder. "I was confused! Besides," she said, more calmly now, "I didn't think you'd ever want to marry me. I'd make a poor wife."

"You'd make the best wife," Tom said confidently. "Who else would put up with me?"

"Define 'put up with'. I can't cook. You'd be eating apple potato cake for the rest of your life."

"No complaints there."

"You'd get fat," Sybil reminded.

"Would you still love me?"

"I will always love you," she whispered, finding the truth so unsettling to the ears. It was scary to be this honest, especially when she knew Tom did nothing but reciprocate her feelings. Every exhale was an opportunity for her to breathe in, and as time passed, emphasize all they had been through and how still, they were together and possibly even stronger because of it.

"Do you want kids?" Tom asked.

"Sometimes it's all I think about," Sybil said with a laugh, one that freed her, allowing her smile to grow. "I know that's odd. But things changed when you told me you loved me. I started wanting these things. I want millions of babies."

Tom laughed. "Millions?"

"A few," she settled. "Babies with your laugh and your temperament and your hair. I hope they have your freckles and your patience."

"And from you?"

"I don't care. Nothing horrid, I hope," Sybil kinked her nose causing Tom to laugh again.

"Well I hope they have _your_ hair, and your compassion. I hope they're kind the way you are, and that they have the strength you did to someday go out and find themselves."

"Well I hope they have good friends then, best friends who remind them of what's important."

"We could do it, Syb."

"Someday," she agreed.

* * *

Reviews are always lovely and of course, extremely valued. What did we think?

Without giving too much away, Sybil's arrival home for the summer is very very near. Hmm...what ever could that mean?

x. Elle


	29. Take Your Time (Coming Home)

**A/N: **Not much to say with this one. It's pretty self explanatory. Everyone can thank the lovely **teenagerliebe** (or **buecherdieb** on tumblr) for this being up sooner rather than later. Sometimes I need a bit of a push.

Anyway, enjoy and please review if you're feeling generous! :]

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"Take your time coming home.  
Hear the wheels as they roll.  
Let your lungs fill up with smoke.  
Forgive everyone.  
She is here and now she is gone  
We had plans, we can't help but make love.  
It's a beautiful thing when you love somebody,  
and I love somebody."  
_Take Your Time (Coming Home)_ - Fun.

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Landing in London was different. For the first time since Cape Cod, Sybil had enjoyed a plane ride with Tom. This was also the first time since first leaving for New York back in August that Sybil sat First Class. After that first trip, she told her parents she preferred to sit in Coach, despite their willingness to pay for a more expensive seat. She wouldn't lie and say that Coach was necessarily preferred, but she knew that a lot of what she was doing at that time was uncomfortable and yet somehow for the better. She also knew now, after a year of university completed, that following her dreams and doing what it was that she always wanted to do was not easy. Like making the decision to tell her parents and attend Juilliard after only just admitting that she was very much in love with her best friend, the journey thereafter would not be a smooth one. Beyond missing Tom and doubting herself, Sybil would admit that she learned much more than she ever hoped to, some wonderful things, and others, she wished to never have to acknowledge.

At baggage claim, Robert and Cora explained to Tom and Sybil that they had to pick Max up from a friend's house. Mary and Matthew were attending a golf tournament that afternoon to benefit a local library and would not be arriving into town until right before dinner. Sybil smiled, remembering her talk with Mary, and how happy her sister seemed at the prospect of her husband golfing.

Edith and Anthony would also be attending, as would Sybil's grandmother. She looked forward to the meal and the conversations that would no doubt occur, but upon hearing that her mother and father had plans beforehand, Sybil turned to Tom and whispered something daring in his ear, causing his throat to dry as he tried to blink, doing his best to maintain composure with Sybil's family standing just an arm's length away.

Part of what she wanted was made more clear when they got to Tom's car. With the trunk packed with their suitcases and then closed tightly, Sybil pulled at Tom's t-shirt and brought his lips down to hers. His weight rested into her, with a leg pressed in between her thighs. Even in the full lot of cars, Sybil groaned, tightening the grip she had on his shirt causing her knuckles to whiten and her mouth to smile as he deepened the kiss.

When they pulled away, Sybil laughed and headed for the passenger side door. They didn't get far though, with Sybil teasing Tom, first stroking his hand on the stick shift, then moving over, to rub and grab ahold of the bulge already apparent in his jeans. As they drove out of the city and began to head south toward Downton, Sybil's boldness grew. Amidst discussing their plans for the upcoming week, at a particularly long red light, Sybil unbuckled her seat belt and climbed over the center console to straddle Tom's lap. Her hands rested lazily on Tom's chest, while her mouth peppered kisses to his neck. She could smell his aftershave, and the scent tingled her nose and excited her, reminding her of a closeness they had chosen to forfeit for a reason that suddenly seemed ridiculous.

In a way though, both Tom and Sybil were proud of one another, and figured that if anything, this was something they could simply laugh about in a few years. It was possible that it taught them nothing and that they didn't prove anything to the world in the way that they had hoped. It made them stronger though, and somehow more apt to stop proving themselves altogether. This wasn't about them, or maybe it was. At the end of the day, they decided, it didn't matter what they did or how they did it; there would always be someone to point a finger or wag a tongue, dismissing their actions as childlike.

Parking in front of Tom's flat, Sybil smiled at Tom and he smiled back, before the moment was gone, with Sybil running off toward the building up ahead. Tom was left with no other option but to follow her and unlike all the times before, he caught her, wrapping her arms around her midsection to pick her up. Sybil responded with a loud laugh, one of shock and happiness as she felt his strong arms envelop her. She gave in, kicking her feet up in the air as he carried her toward the elevator where he finally put her back down. She stood off to one side, and Tom occupied the other, both glancing at one another as they waited for the doors to close. Impatiently though, Sybil jumped up onto Tom, latching her legs around his hips which she then ground into, causing her shirt to rise up and her backside to be exposed to anyone outside the still open elevator.

This time, he didn't set her down. At the sound of the elevator reaching the top floor, the doors began to slide open. Tom waited, using the moment to taste Sybil again, paying special attention to the way her face angled itself to fit his perfectly. With enough room now, he inched them back, and they began to stumble toward the door to Tom's flat with hands wandering as eyes remained heavy and shut.

Sybil's back hit the wall with force, yet she smiled, moaning into the kiss Tom was giving her. Her hands, formerly around his neck, were now cupping his cheeks. They broke away only to allow Tom to fish his keys out of his pockets and open the door behind where they now stood.

Inside, Sybil slid down, resting her feet carefully back on the ground. She kicked off her old sneakers and then rid herself of her sweater before turning to Tom, curling her index finger toward her body, inviting him to come and ravish her again.

He obliged, but much more slowly this time. As he walked toward her, he too rid himself of his shirt, revealing to Sybil the lines of his chest and back, and how the sun he had received while playing football in the park had kissed his skin much in the way she just had. This time, she didn't run. Instead, Sybil watched him, gawking at the way his body moved steadily toward her, his hands reaching out to grab for her midsection again, causing her to once again hoist herself up onto him. Naturally, the balls of her feet dug into his backside and they both smiled at the contact of bare skin on bare skin as they tasted at one another.

Together, he walked them through the flat and toward his bedroom, stopping here and there to use a wall or the ledge of a table to support her, while his hands felt her out, doing his best to figure out what it was that she wanted without needing her words to guide him through it all.

At one point, Tom's phone rang. Sybil grabbed for the offending item from his back pocket and threw it over her shoulder, giggling when it landed against the cold hardwood floor with a loud slap. She didn't have time to think of whether the screen shattered. Already she was smiling, glad that the ringing had stopped and that her and Tom were seemingly alone, the kind of alone that was both thrilling and terrifying.

"Are you going to get in trouble?" Sybil asked, convinced without even looking at the screen that the call must have been from Hunter. After all, she was here, and with the way he was currently kissing her neck, she figured it could be no one else.

Tom shook his head. "Who cares?"

Again, he went to kiss her but Sybil's mouth pulled away, and the open smirk she wore teased more than her lips ever could. "It's been awhile," she commented, and Tom wondered if she was referring to this and their lovemaking, or the girl she used to be in bed with him, almost a year ago.

Though this used to be a large part of who they were, there was a certain unfamiliarity with all of this. A roughness that the world would have expected them to utilize when still lying about their love was only just making itself known here, a year since they had last been intimate and first admitted that they were both deeply in love with one another. All of that before was slow and calculated, but this was wanton and maybe even a bit sloppy. They knew they loved each other, and there was no need to prove it all with how tender they used to be with one another. Just as they had back in August before Sybil left for school, they needed one another, and they had no reservations when showing one another, letting hands touch sensitive parts as lips and teeth sucked and nibbled at naked skin.

With her pressed up against the back of the couch, Tom reached down, slipping his hand inside the soft material of her leggings to tease at her center. She wasn't wearing any underwear, and Tom did all he could not to laugh, thinking how typical it was and how for as much as he always said he never found ballerinas to be attractive, dating a dancer most certainly had its perks. It was true too. He once told Sybil that the slenderness of a girl who danced ballet was off putting and yet, it was what drew him so intimately to her. He craved the curves Sybil had, those that were made all the more beautiful because she was able to keep them and still move so brilliantly across a stage. It was her body, amongst other things, that she used as a weapon to defend and prove the world wrong.

Sybil's hips bucked at the intimate contact and the cool temperature of his hands. He smiled and she smiled back before dropping her head back, giving him permission to continue his ministrations. It was one finger, then another, easily sliding into her, using the slickness already present between her legs to lubricate his actions. She gave in, needing him like this, but also in so many other ways. As he continued, his thumb reached up, kneading her clit. His entire hand was cupping her mound, and the more his hand moved against her, the more the heat in Sybil's body grew, as her legs began to tense and her toes began to curl.

Just as Sybil's hands had invited him close before, Tom now mimicked this action, curving his fingers upward, hitting her most sensitive spot. As he did this, the grip Sybil had around his neck loosened, as her legs almost gave out and threatened to send her sliding toward the ground. Her body was jelly like this, with him tantalizing her with his touch. It was almost too much, but she enjoyed the control she lost to him the more he pleasured her. All was confirmed as she felt her orgasm hit and she screamed out, dropping her head back as she felt her body climax. All of her was on fire now, shaking as her wetness covered his hand, dripping down the inside of her thigh.

Lazily, she smiled, and reached up to kiss Tom in appreciation, kicking out of her leggings as she did so. The electricity present in her body dulled to a tingle, and without even being aware, Sybil used her breathing, formerly ragged, to slow everything down. The room was no longer spinning and her toes released.

Sybil dropped her legs down to the ground and then leaned in to Tom, basking in the aftermath of one of the most intense orgasms she had ever experienced. It had been passionate like that before, but never had she given herself so willingly, surrendering to way he knew exactly what to do to get her off. "Much better than the phone," she whispered, and Tom nipped at her lips in agreement. His own arousal increased at picturing her, much like he had just a few weeks ago, doing her best to figure her own body out, something she had failed to do after being with him for so long, and at such a young age. He knew she hadn't hit much pleasure the way he had just helped her, and he wanted that for her, even then, but at the same time, he took pride in his ability to know her this well and to send her twirling off the edge.

In his bedroom, Tom kicked off his shoes. He went to unbutton his jeans but got only as far to take off the belt around his waist. Looking up, he saw Sybil reaching around to unclasp her bra. A sly smile played its way across her features as she stopped, realizing what it was that he wanted. She stopped too, and inched back, as Tom straddled her body against the bed, leaning them both back against the soft comforter. He had one arm reaching up to cup her face and the other, pressed flat next to her head on a pillow.

Sybil detached from Tom, only so that she could lean down and begin to toy with the waist of his jeans. Her small hands did quick work, unclasping the top button, and then working to slide down his zipper before dipping her hands into his pants, moving them back so that she could begin to slide the denim off his hips, only after she cupped his ass. In front of her, his cock was constrained within his briefs, no longer as tight as they usually were with all of the movement they had created between themselves.

She wanted to reach out and grab him, and she did, but first her lips found his, chastely at first, then more passionately, as her mouth opened up and invited his tongue inside. They moved against one another, with both their lips and lowers halves grinding against one another. The friction that existed between them worked to spur them both on. Sybil reached out to grab for Tom, to fell his length in her hand, but he stopped her, causing her eyes to catch upon his in inquiry.

"What?"

"No," Tom exhaled, doing his best right now to steady his breathing. "I want to come inside of you," he stated plainly.

Sybil nodded. "You still can," she offered with a giggle, one that enticed him greatly. It wasn't uncommon for the two to spend the weekend when her parents were away, up in her bedroom, seeing how many times it was they could be together consecutively. It was often interrupted with naps, or trips down to the kitchen where Sybil cut up fruit which she fed to Tom over her shoulder as he stood behind her, hands on her hips, kissing her neck while her own fingers worked to move the knife she held against the cutting board. It was never enough. When Sunday came and Robert and Cora returned home, Sybil and Tom spent the usual dinner glancing at one another across the table, their eyes agreeing that they could have used more time to be alone.

"No," Tom shook his head. "It's all I've wanted for months. I've been patient, don't you think?"

Seductively, Sybil let her eyes linger on Tom's, long enough to apply a bit of pressure to where she held his member in her hand. Then, she let go, and returned to ridding him of his jeans, which she pulled off, taking with them his socks.

At the foot of the bed, Tom rid himself of his briefs and threw them to the side, not caring if they landed with another item of clothing, or if they added to the cluttered trail that he and Sybil had started back at the front door. Sybil was resting on her elbows now, naked from the waist down. She wanted to join him, to have his skin immediately touch hers as soon as he laid back down to cover her, but she stopped, knowing that this was something he wanted. She was his today, just as he was hers. He had been patient, she thought, and she would give him all of her, especially her heart, if thats what it took to show him she was thankful - that she had always been thankful and that she had always loved him, even through all the nonsense.

Tom did just what Sybil thought he would. He rested his weight on top of her again, all of it, with his cock pressing into her thigh as he reached up to cup her cheeks. Their mouths were on one another again, sure now that they'd never get enough of being close like this. Only when they needed air, Tom pulled away, biting Sybil's bottom lip in the process, causing her to moan when he finally let go.

As Tom reached around Sybil's back to undo her bra, she turned them over, making it so that she was on top. Still though, she didn't dare do his job for him, and instead kissed his neck as he unclasped her bra, and pushed it off her shoulders. Even as he tried to get the garment completely off, he was distracted, first by her breasts presented so fully to him, then by the prominent look of the bones of her chest, and how when she craned her neck to grant him better access, the supple nature of her skin was lost in tautness. Because of this, Tom took his time, placing soft loving kisses to the valley between her breasts, settling on this instead of the words he wished to speak, ones that would tell her how he missed when her body was more full and natural, but that he would love her nonetheless, and that he admired the work she put her body through, even if all of that wasn't necessary here.

"I know," she muttered.

At one point in his young life Tom thought he could write a book on how to make love to a ballerina. First, love all of her but ignore her feet. Remember that if she shows you her toes she will give you her heart. Adore her legs with your hands. And no matter how fragile she may sometimes look, treat her as if you know she will not break.

The more he and Sybil got to know one another on this level, their bodies enjoying what even their hearts couldn't control, he changed his mind, deciding he knew nothing of ballerinas, or any other girls for that matter, but could imagine every inch of Sybil.

She was not just a dancer, but a mover as well, and her strength, both in and out was overwhelming sometimes. He liked the way parts of her was soft allowing him to apply pressure with his fingertips and tongue without her pushing him away. She was strong but he wouldn't let himself be intimated by this because in giving themselves fully to one another he saw at one time how weak she had been and how every time they were together like this she was just as vulnerable. He did not exist to spite her, but instead to compliment her as they moved together, hands latching as lips smoothed against shivering skin.

Tom picked up her chin and kissed the corner of her mouth. "You're beautiful," he said, forcing her to look at him. "Still so beautiful," he chanted again, his mouth moving south, peppering kisses to her jawline, then down her neck and to her breasts. It was here that he paid the most attention to, cupping one breast then the other, before taking each nipple in his mouth. The pressure he applied combined with the way his mouth sucked and his tongue lapped at her skin, drawing circles to tease, had her once again dropping her head back. As Tom picked his head up, he even caught Sybil gripping the bedspread, seemingly enjoying this just as much as the previous pleasure he gave her, despite the former being much more intense.

Sybil used her hands, bringing Tom's mouth back up to hers. He kissed her forehead, then her lips again, knowing that she was growing impatient. His own arousal did nothing to counter this, and her eyes stared, missing the size of him, and regardless of that, how he knew exactly what to do to love her, and to allow her to show him the same love in return.

She couldn't wait any longer. She needed him, more than she could ever remember needing him before. There was a bit of want as well, but for once this wasn't about comfort or hidden feelings. In fact, she acted the way she did because what was coursing through her veins was more than just lust. She loved him, and she told him, once, then a few more times, as her body moved to straddle him. Sybil reached down, grabbing his cock, pumping to alleviate some of the pressure he was feeling. It was also to tease, and as she did, pre-cum appeared at the head, that of which she used to aid her actions. With her thumb, she pressed down on the tip of his member, feeling the heat of his skin in the palm of her hand. She created more friction when she began to rub the head of his cock over her slit, stopping to tap at her clit which reminded her that this was something she had waited for too. She did it a few more times then, all too quickly, she guided him toward her center, leaving him no other option but to watch as Sybil's lower lips engulfed him completely.

"Ahhh!" She screamed out as she felt him fill her. The noise accompanied with the heat circling Tom's length fully made his eyes bulge, an action that only continued as Sybil began to move against him, urging him to do the same thing.

"So tight," he muttered, a bead of sweat appearing on his forehead.

"More," she moaned, reaching down to reposition him. As she did so, she teased at the base of his cock, providing tension to where his body met hers. "Shit!" she cried out, feeling the tip of his cock hit her most sensitive spot from within.

Tom smiled, loving how dirty Sybil's mouth got when they were together like this. He wanted to kiss her, to show his appreciation with more than just a smirk, but he was unable to as his body obliged, slamming in and out of her with a force neither had experienced in the longest time. In fact, neither of them could remember when it had been this rough and this passionate.

"Fuck, Syb," Tom groaned.

"I love you," was all she was able to say in return. She had other words, much dirtier ones that she wished to save for later. The silence and the sound of their breathing, ragged and wet, was enough for now.

"God, yes," Tom cried out. Even in her own euphoria, Sybil chuckled, knowing that despite not hearing the same words from him, the way he moved against her was confirmation enough. When he finally told her he loved her, her toes were curled and her eyes were dropped back into her head, her legs already beginning to shake.

Sybil's arms were snaked around Tom's neck. Momentarily, she moved, stopping her actions to stroke his hairline. She followed it with a kiss before continuing to thrust, her hips moving up and down, watching as Tom pumped in and out of her. Tom stared too until the pressure got to be too much and he had to close his eyes, doing his best to regain control. It was at this point that he felt it, Sybil biting down on his shoulder, surely leaving a mark, as her own climax neared. Somehow the pain aided in his pleasure, and as he groaned loudly, he felt her own body spasm as she once again screamed out.

"Faster," she urged. "Christ, Tom…" her voice trailed off as she scraped at his back with her fingernails. "Yesss," she moaned, biting down hard on her lip, sure she would soon draw blood if she hadn't already.

They were close, and they both did their best to hold on until the other was ready. It required patience and trust, both of which the past year proved they had for one another.

"Jesus, I love you," Tom moaned. He dropped his head onto her shoulder, unable to control his body any longer, but wanting all the same for this to last as long as it possibly could.

"There! Right there! Yes! Yes! Yes!" Sybil chanted. "Gahhhhhhd!" She screamed out. As she let go, Tom joined her, their breathing become so bated the room swam in it. Both of their minds went blank, flashes of white appearing as they lost themselves in the intimacy of the moment.

Soon, they both collapsed, with Sybil laying flat against Tom's chest. She felt him spill his seed inside of her, watching then as his typical lazy smile took over, signaling he was finished. Sybil smiled too, satisfied with the work she had done, and how lovely she felt being adored in this way. She also smiled because Tom was still hard within her, and she did her best to remember the last time he wanted her this much where even one round of passionate lovemaking was not enough. If she was being honest, with her body still sensitive, she was sure that this would never be enough. This was confirmed as Tom reached down between them, his finger lightly bumping the bundle of nerves between her thighs, causing her to moan out loud once again. Her hips bucked, unable to deal with any more waves of pleasure after what they had just shared.

"Don't," she warned but the way her hips ground into the ball of Tom's hand said differently. "Hey," she countered, wanting to change the subject. "When do I get to taste you?"

"Everyday for the next three months," Tom noted. "And besides, I've only barely been selfish."

"Well now you're being selfless."

"To get you off is not selfless! You know it's one of my favorite parts of us. It always has been."

"Yeah, you're sick," Sybil commented, only to cause Tom to roll his eyes. "You like how it's the one time I'm not in control."

"No, I like to make you feel good."

"Well I'd like to be able to give you the same, okay? And last time I checked, my mouth is also one of your favorite parts so…"

Tom sighed. "Are we seriously arguing over this?"

"Yes!" Sybil agreed with a small laugh, reminding them both that this was not truly an argument. None of the disagreements they ever had were truly arguments.

A phone rang again, this time it was Sybil's, and like she had before, he kissed her, whispering into her neck that he was sorry, causing them both to forget what it was they were even discussing. When he pulled away and asked her if she wanted to go for round two, Sybil nodded, and just like that the phone stopped ringing, only to start back up again.

"Christ!"

Tom looked to Sybil, searching her eyes for something more than want. "Do you want me to go get it?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. Placing a steady hand to his naked chest, she rolled over and off of Tom, running naked to find where it was her phone was ringing from. He watched her go, unapologetically staring at the way her backside wiggled as she went. Her hair was also coming out of its knot, and he made a mental note to rid her of the constraint completely as soon as she was back in bed.

Sybil ran back, now carrying his phone and hers. She turned hers off, but he failed too, using the time to check his messages. "Um, excuse me!?" Sybil sing-songed. "Your girlfriend is naked in your bed and you're going to check your email?"

Tom shook his head and returned his attention to Sybil. After tossing his phone away, an action that looked cartoonish and made Sybil laugh, he reached behind Sybil's head to untangle her hair from its bun. She followed his lead, holding her hair up now so Tom could continue the assault on her neck that he had started before. He made it all the way down to her breasts, and went to take a nipple into his mouth when once again, his phone rang.

Sybil groaned and pushed Tom away. She could not manage another minute of this; shamelessly so she craved him, all of him, and could not bare to think that someone else, somewhere, was vying for his attention.

Sighing, she crawled over him and reached for the offensive item. "I'm picking it up and telling whoever it is exactly why you'll have to call them back!"

Tom raised an eyebrow, as if to challenge her to do just that.

"Hello?" Her voice was cheery, and for a moment Tom thought she might actually follow through. "What? You're cutting in and out. I can't—" A beat and she was silent again, but her hand reached up to cover her mouth which was slowly beginning to drop open. "Mama..." Sybil tried again and Tom knew, in that moment, that she most certainly was not going to reveal their activities to her mother. He also knew that she needed him so he moved close, reaching out to touch her, his hands asking for an elaboration. In response, Sybil hung up the phone and looked to Tom, her head shaking as if to reject the words she had just heard, words that pushed her to begin getting dressed.

"Syb? What's going on?"

She looked to him as her legs slid into a pair of his jeans. "We have to go."

* * *

Yikes! Seriously why can these two never have a moment alone?

x. Elle


	30. Heartbeats

"One night to be confused  
One night to speed up truth  
We had a promise made  
Four hands and then away..."  
_Heartbeats_ - José González

* * *

Seconds later they were downstairs. Sybil told him where to go, and Tom drove unaware of what else it was that he could do. As they went, he kept a watchful eye on the road but glanced to her every so often, fearful of the silence she allowed as she held a hand up to her mouth and bit on the fingernail of her thumb, keeping all the things she was thinking, frightening things, from bubbling out.

"Syb, love, what's going on?" He tried.

Nothing, so he tried again, this time finding a different tactic, a game the two of them used to play. He reached out to her, his left hand seeking hers while he kept the rest of his body trained on the busy city street ahead. "Hey," he said, finally grabbing her hand. "Why don't you tell me a story, love?"

This game was one they had been playing since they were younger and Tom winced, thinking of his mother's wake, when it all started. It had been played many times since then, when Sybil needed a story to lull her into sleep, or when Tom was bored on an airplane and wished to hear the chaotic and wonderful things she kept hidden away from the world inside her head, but revealed to him because he knew how to ask. The first time they played it, it was much like it was now, with Sybil begging to hear words, anything from Tom's mouth, to let her know it would all be okay.

They never did well with silence.

Sybil looked to Tom and blinked before turning back to the window. He sighed, feeling as if this was all a lost cause, but then she squeezed his hand, and began telling him about the last time she was at the hospital. She recounted receiving a similar phone call to the one she had only just ended with her mother. The nurse on the other end stated very plainly that there had been an accident, and that Tom's guardians were to come as soon as possible. She told him how she cried, and how she ran, all the way to the train station, hoping there'd be at least one last train headed into London. Without skipping a beat she told him how her feet moved, running up the stairs, out of the underground and into the city. She told him how it was unnaturally cold for a summer evening, and how she didn't remember breathing or crying, but how both were all too clear as the nurses took her appearance in as she demanded to be brought to his room.

Tom pulled into the closest spot he could find, but Sybil continued to talk, staring straight ahead as she told of the night she spent in the chair beside his bed and then the day after, when she was brave enough to curl into his side and listen to him breathe.

Blinking quickly, Sybil stared out the window. Tom knew the ending to her story, and she was thankful for that. Still, for as lovely as it was now, it was something she wished she'd never have to go through again. He was here now though and she owed it to him just as she had then, to let him in. She knew this all too well and she tried, but no words came out. Instead, she did all she could to concentrate on her breathing and the way her hands rested in her lap, rearranging themselves every so often. She thought about the moments her and Tom had lost themselves in just hours ago. She thought about his face and the way he held her and how they laughed together, perhaps too loudly. She was home for the summer, and just as Mary had told her, this was her time. She was young and alive and she had just gone through one of the most heartbreakingly rewarding years of her life. She was sure that coming home would cure all ails, but she feared now that her problems were only starting.

Suddenly, she wished she was little and that believing was easy again.

Cutting through the silence, Tom clicked at his seat belt, sending the strap zipping across his chest to hang up above his head. He did all he could to not say anything, to wait for Sybil to look his way, but with each passing moment he found he was in no better of a state than she, even in his ignorance. He knew nothing of what was going on, but he could feel it, and he knew that it couldn't be good. Hospitals were notorious for delivering bad news, told by people trained to hide pain with more than just medication and time.

It wasn't that long ago that a doctor explained his mother's diagnosis to him, talking to him as if he was too small to ever comprehend such a thing. At nineteen, he still didn't understand the way cells mutated or why it was his mother who had to be taken away. What he did know was that he couldn't change what happened to her, and the way it grew to affect him. He could only appreciate the strength it had given him, a strength like what Sybil, eleven then, had shown him as she held onto his hand in this same hospital all those years ago.

"Syb?"

His voice, patient and frighteningly soft, pulled her out of her reverie. Still blinking, Sybil looked to Tom and nodded, before unbuckling her own seat belt and stepping outside the car. It was then that she began to cry, her body nearly collapsing into Tom, who had quickly run to her side.

"I'll carry you?" He asked, not caring if his question was as ridiculous as they'd both look. They were not here for her, and the selfish bits of them rejoiced in this before remembering that despite their best intentions, they still had to enter the hospital.

Sybil shook her head. "No," she choked out. "Just don't leave my side, okay? Whatever happens, just stay with me."

"I'm right here," he promised. As he laced his fingers through hers and began to walk, allowing her to copy his stride, another promise was made. Sybil used him as support, her feet only barely moving while her head lay lazily on Tom's shoulder. Like a child needing comfort after scaring themselves from a fall they had caused, Sybil just needed to know it would all be fine. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, but eventually.

As they hit the automatic doors, Sybil's feet gained momentum, bringing her and Tom immediately to the elevators. Weak and shaking, her fingers reached out, touching a button that would bring her to the same floor Tom once resided on. This was different though. Even with minimal knowledge, Sybil somehow understood that fact.

When the elevator doors slid open, Sybil stepped out, bringing Tom with her. They hurried to the nurses' station. "Mary and Matthew Crawley, please," she managed. The nurse merely looked up, her eyes wide in the way that Sybil's were when on the phone with her mother earlier. Tom was growing impatient, wondering what it was that they were keeping from them. Meanwhile, words like "accident", "critical condition", and "urgent" flashed in his head, as if to give him something, no matter how unsettling, to hold onto.

"Sybil?" Robert sighed seeing his daughter standing with her best friend off at the end of the hall. She ran to him, forgetting all of the words that had been spoken between them in the past. Things like that didn't matter when heart monitors beeped loudly in time with IV drips, the soft hum of a radiator creating white noise in an attempt to mask it all and make this seem far more normal than it ever could be.

"Papa!" Sybil hugged her father, and though she had left his side, allowing a cool breeze to settle in her place, Tom smiled, his heart warmed by an action that was far overdue.

Cora and Isobel, Matthew's mother, sat slumped over in chairs behind Robert, but were moved to stand as they saw Sybil, always a light and warming spirit, running toward them.

"Where's Max?" Tom asked, watching as Sybil and Robert broke apart.

Robert rubbed at his eyes. "Edith and Anthony took him home. He didn't want to be here and quite frankly, we can't make him stay." It was almost as if he had just explained this to someone else, but the exhaustion in his voice was for other reasons, ones Sybil and Tom didn't wish to think about. They couldn't imagine and they wouldn't try.

Tom wondered if this is what it felt like for Sybil, seeing him after his own accident. He didn't dare ask though. Besides, he knew the answer, just as Sybil knew but would not reveal that she could just feel how different this all was. It was in the air, and in the way everyone around them moved, careful not to make eye contact or say anything to upset the already unsteady balance.

Sybil feigned naivety and asked, simply: "Well, how are they?" hoping that for a moment she wasn't really here and that this was all a dream. Her voice was impatient now, almost sounding as if she was out of breath. The thought of Max knowing of any of this, picturing his parents in any state other than wonderful, was too much for her, and she couldn't imagine it for a child. Even she, who had spent most of the last couple of years at war with her own parents, started to well up again, imagining her mother and father with bruised bodies and cut up faces, so unlike the people she knew, unable to keep it together or even conceal their true feelings like they had in the past, always there to tell her that eventually, it would be alright.

"Not good," Isobel managed.

Sybil walked to the woman, someone she had considered more as a friend than a member of her family. Like Sybil, Isobel was independent and outspoken. She did a fine job at raising Matthew, and the contrast to her and Mary's own mother was amusing at best. "What happened?"

"All we know is that the car in front of Mary and Matthew swerved. They suspect another car was trying to merge with his lane and he must not have seen him coming. The driver who swerved drove directly into Mary and Matthew's car, sending them off the road."

"The car rolled four times before landing at the bottom of the embankment…" Cora tried.

"And the other car?" Tom asked.

Robert looked to the boy and shook his head.

Isobel, even through all of her years working in a hospital much like this one, was not completely numb to bad news. Her husband had died right before Matthew entered university, reminding her that the medicine she relied on could not create miracles or fix lives that the universe had other plans for. There was not enough medicine, time, or faith in the world to change what had already been set into motion.

Just as Sybil had always felt, seeing Isobel so affected was a reminder that the world was bigger than her, and far stronger and much more stubborn than she'd ever be. Though she'd never understand it, she was trying, she just wished this wasn't the thing to cause it all to come into focus.

"It's just machines now," Isobel tried to explain, using her best doctor's voice while also remembering that this was her family, and those people laying motionless on their starched hospital linens, were her son and daughter-in-law. "The doctors are trying but it seems—" She stopped herself, her own voice growing weak as it did its best to retreat back into her throat. These were words that even she was hesitant to speak. "It seems there's nothing that can be done. Even if we leave them on, they won't get better. But it's fine, you see," she said, doing her best to convince herself of this as well, "right now it's almost as if they're sleeping. They can't feel a thing."

Tom closed his eyes tightly, mimicking the way Sybil's grip upon his upper arm strengthened. Sybil looked up to him and blinked, one time then several more, like she was waiting for his features to change. Like she was waiting for his edges to blur and for them to disappear completely, fading out the awful color of the walls or the sterile smell lingering in the air. Wasn't it just yesterday that she had felt alive, so moved by the boy she loved and the love he always showed her in return? It seemed that like her performance, all things must come to an end, and that for as exciting as her spinning and twirling always was, that to increase the speed of things usually meant to prepare the body for the more abrupt let down the moment both feet were flat on the ground.

"Tom?" Sybil asked. "They're going to be okay, right?"

"Syb…"

"No! Tom, you were fine and they're going to be fine. We just need to give them time, right? It hasn't even been that long. How do we know…" Erratic and messy, her breathing sped up and her hands moved about, both doing their best to make sense of all of this.

Isobel stood up. "Sybil, the doctor's have been wonderful. They're trying but there is only so much they can do."

"They need to try harder!" Sybil demanded before turning back to Tom. "Tell them they're not trying hard enough!" Suddenly, her voice raised in volume. "Why are we just accepting this?"

Robert dropped his head. "There's nothing more they can do, Sybil!" There was a bit of anger in his voice, a pleading for Sybil to join them in their numbness, to quiet her voice and settle down. He was annoyed by her denial and the way it allowed for hope to creep back in, when the rest of them had already accepted that there was none left to be had. "Now please, calm down! You shouting isn't going to make this go away!"

"No!" She screamed once, and then again: "No!" A nurse looked over, shocked by the sudden increase in volume. "They're fine!" Sybil yelled. "They're fine and they will be fine! Aren't they? Tom?" It was this last statement, her words searching for him, her mind always seeking him out, that caused Tom to finally break. He pulled her into him, rubbing her back as he cupped her head to him. He thought of what he could say to give her the parts of him that were far more rational than she was ever capable of. Her innocence had always been blinding, and while she expected the best from those she loved, she held the life she lived to the same standards, hoping that things like security and hope would always be there, unafraid to admit that both things sometimes failed to exist to the fault of no one in particular.

Robert sat back down. He leaned forward, not wanting anyone to see the way in which he wept into his palms. Cora rubbed at his back but as she kept her hands busy, she too found herself crying, allowing for her hand to grab ahold of Isobel, the two suddenly seeming close in a way that was natural despite the need behind it.

Sybil pounded at Tom's chest, trying to push him away. It was she who forgot her own words, the same words she made him vow. Unwavering, Tom held on, always a rock for Sybil. Though he said nothing, his arms spoke volumes: "Whatever you need," again and again. The words were so familiar that he swore he had heard her repeat that same sentiment back to him.

In a way he invited her fight. The pain it caused him was a reminder that through all of this, they were alive, and that as much as they wished for their hearts to stop beating to rid their bodies of the hurt, this was another thing they simply could not control.

"I'm not letting go," Tom whispered. If they were anywhere else it would have made her laugh. Her face did not falter, but her arms dropped, only to wrap tightly around his midsection as she repositioned her head so that her cheek was flat against his chest, her face emotionless as she listened to his lungs contract. It was the acceptance of his love, Tom never knew he'd want, that made him kiss the top of her head over and over again, unaware of the tears falling down his own cheeks as he did his best to keep Sybil calm.

Finally, Sybil picked up her head, but the grip she had on Tom did not change. "Can I see them?"

"Your mother and I have begun to look at the will and it seems—"

"Can I see them?" Sybil repeated, her words coming out from behind gritted teeth. At this moment, she had little care for legal documents.

"Sybil, Isobel is trying to explain that based on what we have read, it may be best if we all go in and see them at some point. If you'd like to go first then—"

Sybil blinked, then swallowed. "What does it say?"

"Mary and Matthew wrote in their will that they do not wish to survive on machines. It's—"

"That's ridiculous!" Sybil bellowed. "You don't plan for these things! You said it yourself, they just happen!"

"Well, darling, it seems they did. There are pages and pages of things detailed in their will, should a number of different scenarios ever occur."

"How are you being so calm?"

"Do I look calm to you Sybil?" Cora spat. "Mary is—" She couldn't continue. Again, Sybil thought of Max before returning her attention to her parents and Isobel, so visibly broken and weak. She wondered what was worse: losing a parent at a young age or having to bury a child, and then sighed, knowing that neither were easy, and that the world was sick for ever allowing either to happen.

"And for god's sake, please pick up your phones next time!" Cora added, her voice straining as another sob found its way out. Sybil didn't bother to look at Tom, but she felt the way her father looked at her, still so disappointed, causing them all to train their eyes on the ground below. It seemed impossible that the floor could hold such heaviness.

Isobel sighed, breaking through the silence that had only just settled back in. "I'm not ready to go in."

"Neither am I," Robert agreed. "Cora?"

"I'll wait for you."

Sybil looked to Tom. All of the urgency she once had dissipated and despite things she had promised him, she wanted to run. And she knew, that if she did, he would go with her, because he vowed to never leave her side.

With no other option, Sybil entangled her arms around Tom again, this time reaching up behind him to rest her hands on his back, pulling him in close. She breathed him in, smelling the lingering of his cologne, his aftershave, mixed with memories of the wonderful morning they had together, so lost in one another. It was unfair at best for things that are beautiful and things that are harrowing to exist in such close approximation to one another.

"I don't want to go in," she murmured.

Tom's head was dropped down to her shoulder. He kissed the stretch of her neck and as he responded, his lips, dry now, moved against her skin. "Whatever you want."

"What do you want?"

It occurred to Tom that he was not as far removed from all of this as he would have liked, and that it was no use pretending otherwise. Though he and Mary disagreed, they were at a different point in their lives lately, one full of respect and fondness thanks to the love Tom so openly showed Sybil and Max. Even before all of that, Matthew and Tom were close, and Sybil wanted to scream out and pitch a fit, angry now that another person of importance was so quickly taken from her best friend. The latter thought had her holding onto Tom far tighter than she thought was possible. She wasn't going anywhere, and she needed him to know that.

"I'd like to say goodbye, but I'll wait for you to be ready."

"I'll never be ready. This isn't happening." She sighed, the tears falling quickly now. "This isn't happening."

Tom nuzzled his face into Sybil's neck, and she knew that this meant he was crying as well. She didn't need to feel the tears either to know her insides were turning, her throat was burning, and her own breathing grew to be more ragged at the mere thought of her best friend being this vulnerable. "I don't know what to say."

"Me neither. I just want to go home."

Tom expected another sentiment of denial, but none came. She was silent, and he joined her there, the two of them still standing as one, gripping at the threads of the clothing they wore, touching skin and hair, to remind themselves that they were here, even if it hinted that others, were not.

When they pulled away, they both looked up. From far away it looked as if someone might have tapped them on the shoulder, bringing them out of their reverie and back into reality. It was possible this was the case, as the two wore faces of sincere daze. Sitting now, it was just Isobel, and Sybil stepped into the woman, not bearing to see her alone.

"Where—"

Isobel shook her head. "Your mother felt sick and needed to step out for some air. Your father went with her."

"Can I get you anything?"

Isobel reached out to touch Sybil's hand. "No, Sybil, but thank you, dear. You have always been such a joy. I…" Her voice trailed off. They all knew no words were to follow; none existed in this world. They were past the point where prayers and pleading could change fate, or at least past the point where they were blind enough to believe such things were true.

"I'm going to go in eventually if you'd like to join me."

"No, dear, you go with Tom. I'll wait here. Edith should be here shortly."

"Did her and Anthony go in?"

"Shortly after they were stabilized."

"I want to get home to Max," Sybil let out, perhaps not even aware that the words were still lingering in her mind. Right now, he was all she could think of, and though Tom didn't mention it, she knew he was thinking the same thing.

Before turning away completely, Sybil looked to Isobel. "Will you stay at Downton with us tonight? There's no sense in you going home alone."

"I think I might. But your mother and I want to stay here for as long as possible."

Sybil thought back to that morning, how her and Tom had found such ecstasy together, and how in their bliss, moments seemed to last forever. She wondered how long they were in his bed, for it seemed too much had occurred for it to only be an hour or so. That was all it took for her life and the lives of those she loved to change, some failing to exist completely. Her mouth tasted bitter as she swallowed the last thought.

As she stepped back into Tom and began walking off down the hall toward Mary and Matthew's room, she thought of the game her and Tom played, and how accepting all of this was somehow to deny it completely. She'd play along and see them, but with a small part of her heart still believing that after she set her head down to sleep that night, she'd wake up, and Mary and Matthew would be down at the dining room table, waiting for her and Tom before they all sat down for breakfast. How long was it, Sybil thought, since the last time her entire family was at the table together, and how long would it be for them to all be seated together again? These are the things you think about when your life changes against your will; how many minutes before I can have it all back?

The room was dark, save for a light that shined dully, illuminating the space between the two beds, keeping Mary and Matthew from complete darkness. Their heart monitors beeped then paused, before repeating themselves, carrying out the same task as the lamp, reminding Sybil and Tom of the fight still left in both Mary and Matthew.

Tom and Sybil shuffled in, with Sybil stopping and growing hesitant, needing Tom even with her body close to him as he turned back to close the door. She didn't dare look at Mary and Matthew without him, and yet, even when he turned back to her, his hands mingling with her own as he guided them into the room, she found herself wanting nothing more than to disappear.

"I don't know what to say," she choked out, biding herself time.

"You don't have to say anything."

"Isn't that what this is? Aren't I supposed to say goodbye and cry and—"

Tom sighed and pulled Sybil in close. "Everyone deals with death differently, Syb. You just do whatever you think is best." And then, as final encouragement: "I'm right here, love."

Sybil looked at Tom one last time before allowing her eyes to settle on the beds just a foot away, pushed up against the wall. It was all very orderly, with Mary's side of the room echoing Matthew's. They were both dressed in hospital gowns, their hair wet and pushed back from a bath the two must have been given to rid their bodies of the blood, caked on thick from carelessness. It seemed the process of concealing the pain had already begun, and Sybil winced, thinking how still in this moment they were alive. Barely, but they were here. She didn't know how the procedure worked, but soon it would all be ended, and it would happen whether she gave a proper "goodbye" or not.

She turned back to Tom and held out her hand. Sybil felt like an island all alone in this room, and she needed him close again. Of course he obliged, moving to stand directly behind her, a hand on her shoulder while the other laced with her fingers below. Immediately, she looked to him, their eyes meeting in a moment they would usually let their lips take advantage of. "Do you want to go first?"

"I don't know," he whispered back.

"Can they hear me?"

Tom looked to Sybil, doing his best to hide the smile he wanted to wear at hearing her voice sound so innocent and pure. "I don't think so, Syb."

Without warning, Sybil took a step forward. Tom would have followed, but she seemed content here, with their bodies still connected at the fingertips, while distance separated them only barely.

"Mary," Sybil began, already breaking down. "I need you and Matthew to wake up, okay? I know they say that this is it but I can't believe it and I don't wait to either. I just...remember when you sat with me? Do you remember that? We were right down the hall and you brought me food and clothes. Dreadful clothes, if I remember correctly. Clothes I would never wear," Sybil commented, crying where she normally would have laughed. "You sat with me for hours that night. You know, people can say what they want about you, but I've never understood any of it. I've never known someone to be less judgmental. I'm thankful, and I know Tom is too. The rest of the world turned their backs for awhile, but you and Matthew were so supportive. I know you'll never admit this, and now you'll never have the chance to, but I know you two championed for us to get together. I know you were far wiser than Mama and Papa and I know you knew maybe even before we did," Sybil exhaled. "I'm supposed to say goodbye, but all I can think to say is thank you. And this isn't fair, of course. Max needs you, and we all know that, but I need you too, okay? I'm sorry if that's selfish but I need my big sister. And Matthew, always like a brother, I need you too. I need to know that things work after Downton. I need your energy and your laughs and your awful Christmas dinners. I will do anything. Anything," she repeated. The tears were falling hard now, cascading down her cheeks, painting her skin in soft pink streaks to highlight the redness of her eyes. "So just wake up, okay? Just open those eyes and tell me it's going to be okay because you're the only one I've ever believed when that was said. And I need to know it's going to be okay and if it is, I want you both here with me to find out."

"Syb? You okay love?" Sybil turned to Tom, nodding. "Where'd you go?" he asked.

"What?"

"You just stopped talking. For a really long time."

Sybil blinked, then looked back to Tom. Had she? She wasn't aware. "Oh. I'm sorry."

Tom did his best to smile. "Don't apologize. Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she nodded, stepping into him again, loving the way that without saying much, his body was already enveloping her in a hug. "Did you want to go?" With her thumb, she pointed over her shoulder.

Tom shook his head. "I'm okay."

"Tom…" Sybil warned. "I'm right here, just like we promised, right? Go ahead."

"I have nothing to say. They can't hear me anyway. They know how much they mean to me."

Sybil searched Tom's features and found that the boy she once witnessed get cross at his mother's funeral was not that far gone. Parts of him, the parts she would love anyway, were still here, still angry. "Okay," she breathed out, accepting his decision. Quickly, she was back in his arms, burying her crying face in the crook of his shoulder. "I'm sorry," she managed.

"Me too, Syb." Tom picked up his head, and Sybil joined him, her eyes searching his for answers. "Hey, don't cry, alright?" The calloused skin of his hands rested on her cheeks, bringing her back to him. He rubbed at her skin with the pads of his thumbs and brought her face toward him, resting his lips softly on her forehead. "I'm sorry I'm not Mary, or Matthew, but I promise you, this will all be okay."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"I love you," she said, looking at Tom, but meaning it for everyone else in the room.

When it was once him on that hospital bed, she felt as if she just said those words he would wake up and be okay. That they, and the world they lived in, would be okay. Now, Sybil had said all she ever wanted to and somehow knew there were no words left to fix this.

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x. Elle


	31. What Sarah Said

_Hi readers! Elle's beta Chelsey here. I just wanted to take a minute to talk over the events of the last chapter. I know it was a shocking revelation for some, but I wanted to reiterate that this story is following a trajectory that we planned out months prior to the first chapter of BC even being written. That being said, this event is an integral point in an arc that we both believe in and a journey that we feel Sybil and Tom are strong enough to take together. Mary and Matthew's death was not a senseless act of drama, but a part of a larger story that mirrors the injustice and cruelty of the tragedies we face in our own lives. If anyone needs to talk about this, or wants something explained further, feel free to let Elle know, she is the brains and the words behind this operation, and I'm sure she could answer anything you need. I will leave you with a quote by Ernest Hemingway:_

_"The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong in the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially.__"_

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**A/N**: Isn't Chelsey lovely? I had her write the author's note referencing the last chapter because she constantly manages the brevity that I always lack.

This chapter was originally meant to be longer but I've made the following scene its own chapter and you will see why and most likely agree with my decision to do so after you read that (I hope to have that up on either Wednesday or Thursday based on the response to this one).

Thanks, as usual, for being such amazing readers. The fact that so many of you are still on board makes me the absolute happiest writer in the world. I can't tell you all how much I appreciate you all, especially those of you who review. It's a huge help, especially on those days where I feel I don't have time or energy to write. So thank you for that, and of course, enjoy!

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"Cause there's no comfort in the waiting room  
Just nervous pacers bracing for bad news  
And then the nurse comes round and everyone will lift their heads  
But I'm thinking of what Sarah said that 'Love is watching someone die'  
So who's going to watch you die?"  
_What Sarah Said_ - Death Cab For Cutie

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The hospital wing was crowded, or at least it seemed that way to Tom and Sybil. Stepping out of Mary and Matthew's room made everything seem harsh, even compared to the truth they were leaving behind when they had just closed the door. The light of the afternoon sun was bright, shining into the hall from the large window at the end of the unit. At the other end, the nurse's station remained much as it always had, with doctors and nurses walking, sometimes running, back and forth from room to room to tend to patients. There was hope here among the noise and the confusion, you just had to know where to look to find it.

In a nearby row of chairs, Cora sat slumped over, head in her hands, while Robert rubbed calming circles on her back, doing his best to maintain his own composure. Sybil couldn't take her eyes off of him and the way he fought back tears, trying to keep strong. She wanted to go to him, to tell him to let go. Always his baby, part of Sybil was intrigued to see Robert cry for the first time. It was humbling to know that beneath it all he had a heart and a soul, and it beat, over and over again, just as everyone else's did.

Nearby, Isobel was talking to a doctor. She stood with her arms crossed over her chest, a foot pointed toward the door, signaling that she would much prefer to leave. Sybil could only imagine she was handling the medical things, and that it would be up to her to explain all of this to her parents and the rest of the family. Meanwhile, Sybil still held onto a small glimmer of hope, praying that suddenly this would all turn around, that what she was told didn't have to be true and they could all go home and wake up tomorrow just as they were the day before.

Sybil and Tom crossed to the family. The chair next to Robert and Cora was vacant, and without words, Tom slowly sat down, and immediately pulled Sybil onto his lap. A gesture as intimate as this one would normally have been frowned upon. Even Cora wasn't completely content with the way Sybil and Tom were always so open with their affections. It was one thing to know the truth, and another to see it, and for them to seemingly flaunt their feelings at every given chance. At the same time, and even Robert would admit this, it was nice to not have to worry about Sybil. It was clear, from the way she nuzzled her head into Tom's neck and he leaned down, kissing her forehead, holding all of her weight, promising her just what her parents had seen: that she was taken care of in his arms, and calmed down in a way that no one else in the room had ever been capable of.

Isobel walked back over, causing both Robert and Cora to stand. Sybil and Tom seemed none the wiser, still lost in one another, a mess of limbs seeking out solace on a too-small hospital chair.

"I've had them set aside the conference room down the hall for our use. They'll be bringing up tea and biscuits. The doctor wants us to go over our options, though it seems they're limited."

"Robert has called for our attorney, I hope that's alright," Cora explained. "I don't know about you but all of these legal papers…" Her voice trailed off and her eyes closed. She brought a hand up to her mouth, willing the tears she felt resurfacing to finally subside. When they didn't, she just allowed them to come, feeling that hiding them was no use at this point. "I'm sorry," she tried, but Isobel had already sat down again, comforting her friend.

"None of this makes any sense," Sybil heard her mother say. She wondered what part of it she was referring to. Was it the documents or the finality or the accident itself that had her feeling so unsettled?

"We're waiting for Edith to return," Robert mentioned.

Sybil picked up her head. "Where's Max?"

"Sleeping." The words came from down the hall, where Edith was walking toward them, car keys in hand. "Mrs. Patmore made his favorite but he didn't touch it. He just simply asked to go up to his room and sleep."

"Where's Anthony?" Cora asked.

Edith sighed. "I have him in the sitting room right next to Max's room. I don't want to intrude and I want Max to have this time, but it worries me a bit."

"Worries?" Cora inquired.

"He won't hurt himself," Tom stated confidently, knowing exactly what it was that had Edith worried. Everyone just stared at him, but it was this that had Sybil laying her head back down on his chest. "He won't," he confirmed.

"He told me he knows they're dying."

Tom sat forward. "He said that?"

"He can't know that!" Robert dismissed. "When he was here, we didn't even know that."

Sybil sighed, biting her tongue and then releasing. "He's not stupid, Papa. Sometimes children just know."

Robert looked to Sybil then back to Cora. "I'm not having this conversation now, Sybil."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Sybil stated sharply. Tom tightened the grip he had on her hand, admiring how even with all of the chaos swirling around him, her touch was soft, letting him know without words that she trusted him, and didn't have to hold on with everything she had to know that he wouldn't let go.

"The room is ready," Isobel stated.

Sybil could hear Isobel sigh and she suddenly felt guilty for acting like such a child. It seemed as if her emotions were not her own. It reminded her of dancing, of giving herself so completely to someone else, of losing control.

The entire family walked slowly toward the conference room. Sybil leaned into Tom and pressed a slow kiss to his neck. She worried she was being selfish, that her emotions should take precedent over his own when all along she swore that this was just as much his family as it was hers. For a moment she wondered if she should apologize, or ask if he was okay, but the only thing she could manage was a whispered "I love you," a sentiment he returned with a lingering kiss to her temple.

Once inside, the door was shut, but a wide pane of glass next to the door allowed those walking by to see the conversation inside. Cora moved first, pouring herself and Robert a cup of tea before offering some to the rest of the family. Edith denied the beverage, finding herself reaching out for a biscuit she was sure she'd never eat in any other circumstance. Tom contemplated pouring himself a glass of water, but even that seemed feeble. He settled instead on finishing the glass Sybil handed him after pouring it for herself and drinking what she could. Soon though, she was crying again, and the more the silence creeped in, reminding them all of why they were in this room, she found it difficult to hold anything back, much less keep a glass of water down.

The latch on the door clicked. Robert and Cora's attorney Michael walked in, offering a closed-lip smile to the family. It was not returned, but he sat down anyway, using the silence to think about how many times he had been in this exact position, having to explain to grieving families the concept of a will, and how a particular will was to apply to them. He imagined the arguments and the scoffs, all of which he had seen before. It still amazed him how things like money and property could split a family at the exact moment when it was in everyone's best interest to remain close.

"Edith, do you have—"

Already, Edith was reaching behind her. Out of her satchel she pulled a clean manila envelope and handed the item to Michael. He smiled at her but then quickly regretted such a forced emotion. This was not the time for pleasantries or pleasing a client but it wasn't real to him, and no inner reminder could assure him of that.

He would never understand what they were going through or how they felt, as he knew by now that the process of coping with death, both the before and the after, were strictly personal. It didn't matter who he had watched die; all that was needed was the mere acknowledgement that this was their family, Robert's and Cora's and everyone else's. These feelings would never again be duplicated, left to be felt by others about their loved ones. They were reserved for this moment alone, and he hoped that for the sake of all those involved, these emotions would be fleeting, leaving behind the least haunting of emptinesses.

"Where would you like to begin?" Michael asked.

Tom surveyed the table. Cora and Isobel were very much lost in their tea, but he saw Isobel pick up her head and glance at Robert, her chest barely heaving as she searched his eyes for an answer. Slowly, Robert shrugged before dropping his head back down into his hand, revealing nothing but his wedding band as the watch on his wrist ticked in time.

"Can I make a suggestion?" Cora asked.

Michael nodded. "Of course. This is all about what is easiest for you."

"Can we just go over the essentials? Just whatever needs to be discussed medically and dealt with at this moment. I'm afraid I won't be able to stomach much else tonight."

Edith nodded in agreement, still nibbling at her biscuit. Sybil reached over to grab for her sister's hand, and the two briefly shared a smile.

"I was going to suggest that, actually," Isobel began. "I think it best if we just go over the living will and leave the rest for after the services."

Part of Sybil, the part that was still a child, wished to inquire about these services that Isobel mentioned. She wasn't ignorant to the wake and funeral that would soon follow her arrival home. She just wished it was different, and that things went as planned, with her family, all of them, getting ready to gather around the dining room table to enjoy a meal together for the first time since Christmas. The child she used to be wished she could pretend, that she could close her eyes and count to ten and have everything return just as it was before she got on a plane the night before. And she could, and she wanted to, but she knew that blinking would provide her eyes with nothing but reality.

"Well Isobel, it says here that you are to act as the proxy. Were you aware of that?"

Isobel blinked. "No, but I guessed as much. And if I were gone?"

Cora sighed. "It's not really worth asking at this point, is it?"

"Excuse me," Edith said, sitting forward, "but what exactly is a proxy?"

Isobel mimicked Edith's action and sat forward as well, placing her tea cup flat on the conference room table before clasping her hands in front of her face, giving her chin something to rest on. "The healthcare proxy works to make all necessary medical decisions when a person, or in this case, people, are unable to do so." Edith quirked an eyebrow, still not completely understanding. Isobel continued: "If Matthew or Mary needed a medication dosage to increase as per the doctor's advice, I could either consent or refuse the treatment."

"Is that even a possibility?"

Isobel smiled, making it so that her pursed lips accented the weary nature of her cheeks, evident in each constricted muscle. She shook her head, and for a moment, her eyes averted Edith's gaze, not wanting to watch as all of this began to make sense for the girl. "I'm afraid not, dear. It doesn't look like that and—"

"If I may…" Michael interjected. He set forth the documents he was just glancing at. Words that made perfect sense to him, so neat and precise on the page, spoke volumes and invoked sadness for all of the others at the table. He thought of how it was Matthew that wrote this document, and he imagined him explaining it to Mary, laying out how he had translated their unlikely plans to legal terminology so that it was bound by law. Even when it was handed to him for filing, he didn't bother to look it over. Matthew was every bit the lawyer his father always wanted him to be, and he wished that he was here now, to provide the same stoic strength Michael was now forced to fake. "It says in the advanced directive that—"

Sybil picked her head up. "Advanced directive?"

Michael sighed, but Robert intervened. "It's another word for a living will, Sybil."

Sybil nodded and then looked to Tom, suddenly feeling foolish and therefore insecure, for not knowing such a thing. Meanwhile, Michael continued his explanation. "Both Mary and Matthew signed the living will—" He stopped, reminding himself to go more slowly and explain all of these things as he went. "And in it, they go through many scenarios. In particular, on page fourteen, they discuss this one in particular, and they state quite clearly that they do not wish to be kept alive on machines," he explained.

Cora dropped her head down into her hands and choked out a loud sob that had the entire table looking to her, unaware of what it was they could do. Robert set down his mug and reached out to pull his wife in close, but even he felt helpless. Michael waited, but Cora did not calm down. In fact, at one point, her breathing came more and more erratic and Sybil's face flushed, wondering if it was suddenly appropriate that they were in a hospital where she could be taken care of.

Finally, Cora picked up her head and Isobel nodded, indicating that Michael could continue. By then, everyone, including Isobel, had tears in their eyes, some letting them fall easier than others. In particular, Sybil wished to crawl into Tom's lap and nestle her face in his chest to hide her own sadness. It was only when she saw that he was nearly crying too, that she remained in her seat, staring straight ahead with his hand in her lap grasping tightly onto her own.

"I'm sorry," Cora whispered, wiping at her nose with the end of Robert's handkerchief. "Please continue. I just...I want all of this to be over."

"So we have no say in the matter?" Robert asked, bringing everyone back to the topic at hand.

Isobel shook her head. "Not really. The doctor's have done their best to stabilize both Mary and Matthew but it seems they've done all they can and they're not making any improvements. They're breathing, but only because of the machines." She sighed, waiting for contention. When none came, she continued. "We must do what they say. If they signed the advanced directive there's nothing we can do about it."

"So we let them die?" Sybil implored.

"Sybil, what did we say about your volume? Please! You're not making this any easier."

The youngest Crawley sister sat back in her chair. In her lap, she rearranged the grip she had on Tom's hand. "I'm sorry. I just don't...I feel helpless! This makes no sense!"

"Syb…" Tom tried. "Just please, love...let them explain it," he whispered, hoping it was only she who could hear him. Her eyes looked to him, begging for him to fix all that was so unfortunately true. It took all he had not to look away, knowing deep down, he could never afford to lie to her.

Isobel shut her eyes tightly. When she opened them, the room was just as she left it: bright and white and still. "If this is what Mary and Matthew wanted, then we must honor it. The doctor will sign off on their documents for them to be taken off of life support. My guess is that they will both pass, peacefully," she added, "by morning."

At hearing this, Sybil wept. She took her hand away from Tom's grasp, and brought it up to her eyes to shield the pain now evident on her face. In all honesty, she had never thought about her sisters passing. She didn't even like to think of her parents dying of old age, and she had only entertained the thought with Tom because she was forced to. It was all difficult to bear, but as she clasped her fingers with his once more, the latter stung the worst. It seemed that if they were all to go, that at least he would be here. She would hold him to the vow he made in Cape Cod that past summer, but knew that if he did go before her, she'd welcome the way he'd arrange her bookshelf, just as he promised. She also imagined that just like Mary and Matthew, she wouldn't be too far behind. Sybil gave herself a day, maybe two, where her heart could exist without him before giving in and stopping completely. She felt selfish for such a thought, and rightfully so, but she didn't dare imagine what either Mary or Matthew would be like without the other, she only knew that now she didn't have to, and part of that thought was comforting.

"They'll feel nothing then?" Edith inquired.

"Thankfully, no. Both of them suffered extreme head trauma in the accident. In most cases, pain medication is unlikely, but I've seen it administered if complications arise. I just don't think it will be necessary here, even if the doctor signs off on it."

"When will they do it? Pull the plug, I mean…"

Michael looked to Isobel. She sipped at her tea and drained the cup completely, before returning her attention to the Crawley girls. "They will take them both off life support as soon as I sign off on it and the doctor approves. It's only when we're ready."

Sybil looked to her mother and father. "Mama? Papa?"

Robert shook his head. "There's nothing that can be done, Sybil. What would you like me to say?"

"I can't believe this…" Edith sighed.

Cora looked to her daughter then back to Isobel. "Is there any chance that things will get better?" She knew the answer, but she needed confirmation from a mind other than her own. For once she wished she didn't have to lie to herself, no matter how comfortable it made her in the past. It seemed Isobel couldn't find it in herself either as she slowly began to shake her head.

"Soon then," Cora managed. "We'll have family say their goodbyes and then I want it done."

"Mama…" Edith pleaded.

"Edith, your mother is right. If Isobel is alright with this then I think this is our best plan right now."

"I agree," Isobel confirmed. "There's no use waiting. It does the heart no good to hold onto what is no longer there."

Unable to take much more of this conversation, Sybil shook her head and stood up. Her hand was placed to the bridge of her nose, covering her mouth as she willed the tears she was crying to stop falling. "Excuse me," she choked out, before heading to the door and slowly stepping outside.

Tom's instinct told him to join her from the moment she was on her feet, but he found himself still, gauging the room he was in and how everyone else reacted. Nobody was okay, and he doubted his actions would influence the situation either way, but before he went to move for the door, Edith stood up and did the same, taking his place now out in the hall.

"I'm fine, Tom, please…"

"It's me," Edith said, sighing now, realizing her sister would not accept help from anyone if she would not accept it from Tom. "You okay?"

"No!" Sybil yelled. "I am not okay, Edith! Are you okay?"

"Listen, Syb, this whole thing is a mess, okay? I get that and I get that people grieve differently, but I'm trying. It hurts me too, alright? I'm supposed to be getting married in two weeks and now…"

"Don't be selfish!" Sybil spat.

Edith looked up at her sister, her eyes seething as she tried to remain calm, or numb, as Anthony had called it earlier that morning when they first got the call. "Sybil, this isn't about you either, alright? Mama is a mess and…"

"I came out here to be by myself. You didn't have to join me!"

"No, but I wanted to. Dear god you are such a child sometimes!"

"You're the one talking about your marriage!"

"Yes, Sybil! Because how dare I want Mary to be there! How dare I want my family to be happy and celebratory, and together! Jesus Christ! Remember how much fun we had at Mary and Matthew's wedding? I'm selfish for wanting things to work out for once in this family? I thought that I'd have it, just like she did, and someday you could have it too. You know, with Papa's affair, I was so worried but things have calmed down and yes, you're right, I couldn't wait. Now I don't even want to go."

"I am selfish, you know," Sybil whispered. She turned to her sister, with fingertips teasing at her lips while her eyes once again glossed over with a fresh set of tears. "Tom and I were—"

Edith looked to her baby sister and forced a smile. Without warning, she pulled her in for a hug, the first in a long time, and the first of many, she guessed. "Maybe it's okay to be selfish, Syb."

"I can't handle this, E...I just don't want to believe it. A few hours ago my life was perfect. And now…" Another sob had Sybil holding on tightly to Edith, burying her head in her shoulder, not bothering to look up even when the rest of the family emerged from the conference room with Michael in tow. If this was any other time, Tom would have intervened, and he was almost certain Edith would have let him. It was clear both sister's needed this though, if anything, to highlight how independently they had always lived apart from one another: two sisters separated by more than years and complexion, but also senses of humor and their overall worldly disposition.

When she finally pulled away, Sybil still didn't look at her family, or Tom. Instead, she grabbed for Edith's hands and held in her own. "Are you staying?"

"Unless Mama wants me to, I'd rather not. I feel bad leaving Anthony at home with Max and…" Edith watched as Sybil's expression changed as she suddenly pictured the child, undoubtedly feeling both lost and alone, unsure of whether or not he'd wake up to a world with or without his parents in it. "Here," Edith sighed, doing her best now to stay strong. "Why don't you come back with me?"

Sybil turned to Tom, looking for acceptance, which he readily gave, his head already nodding in approval. She saw it in his eyes, his need to detach and be alone, and she was relieved to hear Edith's offer, knowing it would give Tom a chance to do just that.

Just as quickly as Edith had pulled her in, she let go, allowing Sybil to walk to Tom and hold him. Still, she was crying, acting suddenly as if she was losing him too, if only for the drive home. "Drive safe," she reminded with a kiss to his shoulder. With his mind finally accepting the finality surrounding everyone, Tom could only nod, but when Sybil went to walk away, he pulled her back in again, kissing her full on the mouth before using her shoulder as a safe place to rest his own head.

"Do you need anything?"

Sybil looked to Tom. Years had lead them here, where time created a bind that kept them both standing and grounded, amidst all the chaos. She blinked, doing her best to keep this image of him in her mind for the car ride home. He was always so resilient and stable, but for once, he was incapable of giving her what she needed. "No, thank you."

* * *

x. Elle


	32. Fix You

**A/N**: I apologize for this being posted a bit later than I would have liked. My life has been a bit hectic lately so I haven't had much time to write, and I refuse to post a chapter I'm not one hundred percent happy with.

Feel free to leave me a review letting me know what you think. I can't tell you how much I look forward to getting feedback from everyone and of course I appreciate every one of you who reads and reviews.

Enjoy!

* * *

"And the tears come streaming down your face  
When you lose something you can't replace  
When you love someone but it goes to waste  
Could it be worse?  
Lights will guide you home  
And ignite your bones  
And I will try to fix you."  
_Fix You_ - Coldplay

* * *

Beyond Downton stretched a road. Parallel to that road on both sides, fenced off pieces of land sprawled, some of which were still owned by the estate, while others had been sold at auction after World World I when at the same time, hierarchy amongst those living at Downton and other places like it, began to crumble.

Ironically enough, Sybil had deemed the road "the in-between". Aside from a few country homes much like the one she grew up in, with their long driveways and the actual house hidden beyond a cage of tall poplars, the road seemed to lead out of one village and to another. It expanded at some points, and narrowed at others, where streams and ponds encroached upon the otherwise dry soil. Halfway between Downton and the neighboring town, a stoplight stood, regulating two-way traffic to pass underneath a single lane arched bridge.

Not once had Tom ever run into police of any kind of this road. For this reason, and many others, those including the darkness provided by the lack of street lamps and the quiet afforded due to the proximity to the city, Tom brought Sybil here, first as a friend, then as more. The first time was right after he received his license, and the two, both frustrated at her parents, drove until they couldn't anymore. When they reached the next town over, both teens had barely said a word to one another, but the drive back provided for other opportunities, one where Sybil laid her head on Tom's shoulder while he drove, content with the girl sleeping soundly against him.

Tom admitted the drive he was currently taking was long overdue. This was confirmed by the pressure he applied to the gas pedal as soon as he was out of London. As he passed Downton, he glanced quickly at the gate despite knowing that he wouldn't be able to see Edith's car or the lights on inside the home. The more his car picked up speed, the thoughts he had of Sybil intensified. They appeared in flashes as he imagined her lazily ascending the steps up to her room, undressing for bed, and then collapsing, as if the weight of the day was finally too much for her body to bear. He only wished that she would have let him be there for her, but he knew now, that in letting her go to Juilliard and find herself, that he essentially had encouraged her to stand on her own. It was a thought that seemed both comforting and horrific, for the one person who always relied on you to finally be capable of finding themselves without your help. Wasn't this what he wanted? Suddenly, and selfishly, he wasn't so sure.

It seemed that he and his vehicle moved without warning, driving quickly up the driveway, his tires pushing at gravel before the same small rocks resisted and cradled the rubber, bringing the car to a smooth stop. Just as the engine and the headlights were cut, the light from inside was allowed to escape, revealing a figure in the doorway.

Tom looked up, then stopped, a hand resting on his hip while the other clutched at his cellphone. "Mr. Branson?" Carson asked, stepping out onto the walkway now.

"Carson," Tom managed, still unaware of when it was that he had gotten to this exact spot. He moved quickly, and without hesitation, as if it was something he was trained to do and had done many times before. The comical part was, Tom couldn't remember a time he had ever pulled his car up this way, as opposed to taking it around back to be parked in the garage. If it happened, it was brief, and the car would idle as he waited for Sybil to come down from her room. Surely Carson had never greeted him at the door and Tom was certain that the two had never stood staring at one another in the way they currently were. "Can, uh," Tom rubbed at the back of his neck. There was urgency still and his mouth was full of hasty words, but somehow even with everything changing, he found himself reverting back to his boyish ways. "I hate to ask but could you bring our bags up?"

He couldn't see much of Carson through the darkness of the night, but Tom swore he saw a smile, or even a smirk, play across the old man's face. "Of course, Mr. Branson."

"Thank you," Tom said with a nod. "And—"

"Miss Sybil is in her room," Carson said, returning to his stoic way.

"And Max?"

"In his room as well," Carson confirmed. "Miss Edith and Sir Anthony have taken the guest room right beside the child. Mrs Hughes has tried to give him food but he has not accepted much. He allowed Sybil in—"

"What for?" Tom asked, his ears perking at this information. He wondered what wonderful and unique thing it was that Sybil had offered the child to make him open up his bedroom door. Soon though, Tom thought better of it. Max was wise, far wiser than the children his age who could be fooled with monetary treats and confectionaries. If anything, it was the trust Sybil knew Max had in her, something that was instilled long ago, that had him opening up his heart to the girl as well.

The roles were reversed now, with Tom accepting his stance at the door, one foot in and the other out, while Carson began to retrieve the luggage from the trunk. The butler sighed. "I'm afraid it was only after he had gone into the bathroom, but she brought him some soup. It was brief," Carson assured the boy.

Tom nodded, doing his best not to draw lines between the story being told and the moment he was living in. He smiled, then walked briskly through the foyer to the staircase, allowing Carson to do his job at his own request. It was a reminder of how far he'd come, no longer the son of a housekeeper, but the boyfriend of the Earl's daughter, always respected, but now for different reasons. It seemed odd to Tom to request that Carson carry his luggage, just as he imagined it seemed odd to Carson to have to see he and Sybil as anything other than friends.

The world changed though, so quickly that it often forgot to alert those who it was changing. It seemed a joke in poor taste mostly, the way that events and people warped to make for moments that were supposed to be meaningful. If you asked a six year old Tom if he thought he'd ever be living in Downton, he would have given you a boyish laugh and refused to answer such a silly question. Today, he'd forfeit the laugh and just smile. He wouldn't refuse to answer the question because it was silly, but instead because it lacked a proper answer. Perhaps the silence spoke best, reiterating something Tom, found difficult to admit: sometimes there were none, no words or sentiment in existence to explain and make sense of life and its ways. You could talk, of course, but it wouldn't mollify a situation or encourage a different outcome. Sometimes words were just noise, comforting and wise, but noise nonetheless.

With a large stride, Tom took the steps two at a time. By the time he reached the landing at the top of the grand staircase, Carson had come in, and Mrs. Hughes was meeting him at the door, ready to help him come up with the luggage. He didn't bother to look at them, but he felt the way they busied themselves, giving him time to choose his trajectory so the two would not cross paths on the second floor.

Somehow, the choice was easy, and Tom settled on the ounce of joy he felt as he walked toward Max's room, knowing that Sybil would be fine on her own, if only for a couple more minutes. The closer he got to the door, the slower his breathing became, and the sneakers on his feet padded carefully at the carpet, as if to not upset the balance here. At first, he moved to knock, but then stopped himself, feeling as if he was talking to the young boy he once was, and not the child he knew to be hidden away behind the door.

No longer in a fist, his hand traveled downward to grab for the brass doorknob. What he lacked in noise, he made up for in strength, his knuckles whitening as he turned the handle at an excruciatingly slow pace. His action was met with little resistance, reminding Tom that the boy he once was, and the child he knew Max to be were not that far removed. Quietly, Tom made his way inside, shutting the door behind him as if to keep this knowledge hidden from the world.

"Max?" he called out. Tom looked around, noting first that the television was off and the windows were all latched with the curtains closed tightly over their panes. Max's school uniform and his signature grey zip-up were folded neatly on the bench at the foot of the bed. Below them, his sneakers, where it looked as if Max had tucked the laces into the mouth of the shoe. Even the nightstand was bare, and Max's backpack, surely brought in by Edith to encourage the child to play a game or read a book to pass the time, was placed carefully atop his suitcase.

Tom stopped now, hating how calculated all of this was. Every reminder from Mary and Matthew about manners and chores and politeness seemed to be finally broadcast, loudly, and clear as well, as if precision could now bring the two back for a moment where they'd thank their son for such effort.

Still though, the room was silent.

Deliberately Tom moved to the bathroom, and found himself sitting outside the door, almost as if to come down to the boy's level. "Max?" he tried again.

"You were the only one that tried the door," Max commented blankly.

"Yeah, well you be sure to remember that next time your grandfather thinks me an idiot, alright?" Tom couldn't see the child, but he imagined him smiling all the same. "What are you doing in there, bud?"

"Nothing," Max managed. And then: "Sitting in the tub."

Tom sighed. "Why are you sitting in the tub?"

There was silence for a moment then a few more. Tom went to stand up, but was stopped by Max giving him more than he had ever asked for. "There was a storm once. Mum said she didn't mind them, but I know she hated them just as much as I did. And this one was bad, too. I was six or seven then and Mum and I were really scared. The power went out and Dad must have gotten scared too because he brought us all downstairs. We waited out the storm in the tub."

He hadn't noticed, but Tom's head was dropped between his legs, with his arms outstretched and clasped as if to be praying. He looked up, but only briefly, and it was then that he felt them, hot tears sliding down his cheeks. Something he somehow felt he was unable to do in front of Sybil came so easy here. He felt no less selfish for crying in the way that he had, and he only regretted the emotion because he kept it hidden from his best friend. The two didn't have secrets and he didn't wish to change that now, but he knew, and he was sure Max would learn, there was an understanding carved out by the world today, one the two boys would never have to acknowledge in order to grasp fully.

Like a thunderstorm, death brought destruction, but somehow managed to leave in the same way it came: quietly, allowing a peace to settle that ensured the pain was only beginning to surface. There'd be no dark clouds after, only days much like today, where life was perfect save for the moments, those that existed like a tap to the shoulder, to remind you that your world was different than everyone else's. Tom remembered that feeling well, the one of disbelief when you realize you're alone in this world, and for as independent as your parents had raised you to be, you know for certain that you can't stand to truly be by yourself. He fought it, but Tom had Sybil then, and now, the same girl, her eyes blue and wide and her hair waving atop her head, was still by his side. How lucky he was, and how utterly depressing it was to think of Max sitting in the bathtub waiting out this storm alone.

Neither boy was sure how long they were sitting in silence. All Tom knew was that it was enough for his body to calm down and for the tears to subside. Like a child, he wiped at his eyes with the balls of his hands. He'd go to Sybil as he once had, wanting to be the man his father had always wanted him to be, knowing though, that she'd hold him at night if he somehow fell short.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Tom asked. He then sighed, wondering how many times he would ask Max this. A long time ago Sybil asked him the same thing. On her eighth attempt, she stopped, and tried other tactics to get her childhood friend to speak. Even now, information needed to be coaxed out of him in the dark of night, his face practically hidden in a pillow while she draw lazy circles across the skin of his back. Tom hoped Max wasn't that broken, but at the same time knew his wishes were feeble and altogether useless at this point. Just like the rest of the family, the child would be broken. Somehow, Tom hoped, Max's resilience, and the love Mary and Matthew had constantly shown him, would someday allow the child to gain his own footing, confident in the strength those broken pieces had left behind like scar tissue mending a wound.

In the bathtub, Max shook his head. "Goonies never say die."

Tom rolled his lips inward, doing his best now to stop another set of tears from falling as his face grew hot and his eyes closed. "Goonies never say die," he agreed.

At some point, the quiet state of the bathroom became reassuring. Max told Tom he'd come out soon and go to bed and when Tom asked if he could get the child anything in the meantime, he gave him the same words Sybil had whispered earlier: "No, thank you."

On his feet, Tom began to walk toward the door but was stopped by Max's voice coming through the door with more volume and strength than he seemed to have all night. "Tom?"

Tom stopped and turned back to the door. "Yeah?"

"Are you going to watch Aunt Sybil tonight?"

He couldn't help but to smile, shaking his head at the kind sincerity evident in Max. "Yeah, I am."

Max nodded. "Okay," he sighed. "Good."

Outside of Max's bedroom, Tom could hear the television on in Edith and Anthony's bedroom, right down the hall. He slowly turned the doorknob just as he did before, not allowing the lock to click in place, hoping this would be one of many secrets he and Max would now share.

The way in which Tom approached Sybil's room was much different. Not just compared to the way he went to Max, but in general, and specifically compared to the way he used to approach her room as a teenage boy. Not an ounce of lust or want existed, but the craving to have her close was still there. Like Max, he assumed she was in the bathroom, but he didn't go to her right away, instead taking the time to rid himself of his shirt and chinos, before slipping into a fresh pair of briefs he grabbed from one of Sybil's drawers he had long ago taken over. Casually, he grabbed for a pair of mesh shorts from his suitcase, still by the door where he assumed Carson had placed it. Her suitcase laid carefully next to it, hinting that Sybil had been in the bathroom for far longer that Tom had been home. This was confirmed as he stepped closer to the door, feeling the heat and steam rising up from the threshold.

He didn't invite himself in the way he had with Max. Instead, Tom exhaled, knocking first, his voice seeking her out before his hand had a chance to turn the handle on the bathroom door. "Syb?"

"Yeah?" she called out.

"You okay?"

"You can come in," she responded, stating it as if she wished she didn't have to.

Tom let himself in and immediately found his nose to be greeted by the strong smell of Epsom salt. With it, he took in Sybil's small form, her legs pulled up to her chest, giving her chin a place to rest. Her hair, usually brought to a curl by moisture, floated heavy and straight as it dipped down into the bath water.

The smell was familiar, but never before had it been this pungent. Many times, Sybil used Epsom salts to alleviate the wear her pointe shoes put on her feet. The mixture, one that sometimes made her wince as she dipped her feet into a bucket of the solution, helped to dry out the skin on her feet where hours at a barre damaged the skin to the point of blistering. She told Tom once that it helped to make her feet resilient to the pain, but as Tom took in her naked form soaking in the murky water he knew this was not always the case.

"Can I sit?"

Sybil looked to Tom and forced a closed mouth smile. "Of course."

He did just that, mimicking the way her body was, with his legs bent at the knee, pulled in close with arms lazily wrapped around them and clasped at the fingers. "I talked to Max," Tom said simply, unsure of what response this would elicit - unsure of what response he wanted.

"He let you in?"

Tom nodded. "I let myself in," he sighed before looking back to Sybil. "The door was unlocked."

"Oh." Sybil stared down at the water again. The porcelain tub mixed with the salt created a somewhat grey tub of water, hiding Sybil's bare skin and the way her hands fidgeted against each other, picking at the already chipped polish on her nails.

"He doesn't want to talk about it…" Tom's voice trailed off.

Sybil quickly looked to Tom, allowing her eyes to catch on his, seeking out the truth. "Do you blame him?"

"I don't blame anyone," Tom assured. "I just don't want him to shut himself out."

"He's a child, Tom. I wouldn't want to face it either," she said before exhaling. "I don't want to face it…"

"Are you mad at me?"

Sybil breathed out and shook her head. "No, why would I be?"

"He'll come around soon. Don't take it personally. I don't think he would have talked to me if I hadn't invited myself in."

"Yes he would have."

Tom sighed. "I don't have the words," Tom tried before starting all over again. "I don't have the words to fix this. I can't promise you it will be okay right now and I certainly can't tell you how to feel. I won't ever do that. But I want to help, Syb...in whatever way I can. I'm here for you and Max and Edith and whoever else needs me. I've been through this. We've been through this," he emphasized.

Again, Sybil looked to Tom. "Gran is already flying over."

"Tonight?"

Sybil nodded. "Right now. She should be here by morning." She was crying again and she did her best not to look at Tom. Even surrounded by wetness, Tom didn't need to see her tears to feel her pain. It was all around them, rising like the steam from the tub, but failing to dissipate as the water began to cool, instead hitting the ceiling and falling back down to rest heavily on their shoulders once more.

"Do you want me to wash your hair?" Tom asked, needing to change the subject. It seemed that no matter what he said, none of this would make sense, leaving their conversation feeling empty and scattered.

"I already did it."

"Did you put your towels on the warmer?"

Sybil nodded. "Yeah."

"Do you want me to grab them for you?"

"No, I can get them when I'm done."

Tom looked away then looked back to Sybil, nodding. "Okay…" his voice trailed off, unsure of where to go from here. "Can I get you anything?" he tried for the last time.

Sybil shook her head. "Can I be alone?"

He looked to her, his face slowly rising to glance upon her. Sybil did nothing but stare back, her inaction telling him that there was little use in fighting her on the matter.

"Okay," he repeated, finding no other words appropriate. Tom stood and began to walk for the door. He moved slowly, hoping her voice would call him back, but no such sound came. At the door now, he looked back to her. "I'm going to email Hunter and then try and get some work done before bed. I'll wait up for you, alright?"

Sybil didn't look to him. Her shoulders were slumped low and she remained, training her eyes on the curvature of the bathtub she sat in. "Okay." There it was again, a word spoken to remind them both of everything they currently lacked.

Behind him, Tom shut the door to the bathroom. Again, he exhaled, not finding comfort in the air he breathed as his lungs did their best to contract at a normal rate. He wished he could be stubborn the way he usually was, refusing at all costs to never let her go until she finally gave in. It always happened eventually, he reminded himself.

Near Sybil's bedside table now, Tom snapped open his glasses case and put them on, immediately seeing the room in a different light. He grabbed for his laptop and went to sit down, but was interrupted by the door opening, revealing Robert with a stack of towels in his arms.

"Oh, sorry," he murmured, still surprised to see Tom so comfortable in his daughter's bedroom. "Where's Sybil?"

"In the bath."

"Carson is helping make up two of the guest rooms for Isobel and Martha so I thought I'd bring up some towels."

"She has some," Tom stated, clearly not thinking about the thoughts that were undoubtedly running through Robert's mind. Even after almost a year it still wasn't easy to look the father of the girl you love in the eye and practically admit that you had seen all of her, skin and bone and flaw after flaw, only to love every inch of her just the same. It was what he thought all parents should want for their children, but upon further pondering, Tom found that the thought left an unsettling feeling in his own gut as he wondered if this is what he'd someday be like with he and Sybil's children. How terrifying, not only for those young and in love, but those who are forced to stand by and watch it all, praying for the safe keeping of innocent hearts taking mature risks. Aware that despite it all, the world would break them eventually.

A silence crept in as Tom and Robert thought of where to go from here. Tom looked to Robert, finding it somewhat amusing to see him performing such a common task. From the terrycloth, his eyes wandered up, catching on Robert and the way a curious look had settled upon his face. "I'm going to sleep with her tonight," Tom managed. When he realized what he said, he repeated the same sentiment with different words. "I'm going to stay in here. I don't want her to be alone—"

"That's fine."

At hearing this, Tom looked up to Robert again, his mouth almost dropping open at the sound of acceptance falling from his lips. "Oh," Tom said, nodding. "Good. Thanks," he added for good measure.

"She needs you right now, Tom. And I have to say, it's good that you're here. Cora is a wreck and…" He didn't continue. He was unable to form sentences to convey just how much pain he was feeling. "I'm just glad she's not alone."

"She's never been alone…"

Robert nodded. "I know." He turned for the door then looked back to face Tom. "You and I need to talk, Tom. Not soon, but eventually."

Tom nodded. "I'd like that. And I think we owe it to Sybil—"

"I owe it to Sybil," Robert corrected. He turned the brass doorknob and opened the door. "Take care of her, alright?"

Tom pursed his lips. "Of course."

As soon as Robert was gone, the bathroom door opened. Sybil exited, clicking the light on the wall before walking to her bed. She drew the covers back and laid down, but neglected to pull the duvet back up over her body. Her hair, usually tied up in a bun, was already beginning to dry as it hung lazily around her shoulders, resting on the plush collar of her purple bathrobe. In the summer humidity, he was surprised to see her wearing the heavy garment, but ignored the fact as he forfeited his previous task of checking his email to instead sit up against the headboard, right beside her.

"What did he want?" Sybil asked. Her back was facing him, and she blinked at the wall while her hands acted as a pillow flat against her cheek.

"He brought you towels."

"How convenient," she scoffed.

"He's heartbroken, Syb. His daughter—"

"And my sister," she reminded, her words biting. "How sad," Sybil began. "Mary was always his favorite…"

Tom took off his glasses and put them on the bedside table. He rubbed at his face with both hands. "Sybil, you know that's not true."

"I don't know what's true anymore. None of this seems real."

"Do you want to talk about it? I can lock the door," he offered. "Just you and me…"

"Not right now," she stated. "Just please stop talking," she choked out, the tears really flowing now. Sybil reveled in the feeling of her cheeks, wet and warm, not bothering then to reach up and wipe at them.

A certain anger filled Tom, forcing him to question what made it so easy in the hospital for Sybil to turn to him, and now, here alone with her, how she somehow knew nothing but her previous ways of pushing him away. He knew he was being selfish, but so was she. Suddenly though, he felt guilty for thinking such a thing. At one time he was forced to be selfish too, furious at life for taking his only remaining parent away from him. But it was she who made him feel less alone, and now he just wished to return the favor.

Without thinking, he reached out for her, allowing his hand to land on the curve of her hip.

"Not tonight, Tom," Sybil whispered through tears.

He exhaled, reaching up to rub at his eyes and cover the pain he felt bubbling with the already present exhaustion. He was trying to be patient, but he couldn't help but to think that she was forgetting everything they had worked to accomplish since his accident last summer. "Syb...please don't push me away, love. I'm trying to—"

Tom was not given the chance to finish. Without warning, Sybil turned over, her arms grabbing for his shoulders so that she could bury her face into his chest. Softly, she breathed into him, wetting his chest with her tears as she whispered her pain like secrets into his skin. It was what he wanted, but suddenly he felt helpless, finding the only comfort he could give both her and himself, was to hold on and never let go.

What he did know was that words were useless, and that this, like all other things lately, would just take time. In the meantime, he would kiss the top of her head, hoping she could wear his show of love like a crown, one that would provide strength instead of bringing her down. "I'm sorry," he finally managed. "I'm so sorry, Syb…"

"Just hold me, okay?"

Tom had no other option but to kiss her forehead, hoping it was enough but knowing somehow, that right now it couldn't possibly be, so he settled on a safer option, allowing "I love you," to softly escape his lips. Too weak to respond, Sybil merely nodded before closing her eyes, hoping to give in to slumber and temporarily rid this day from her mind.

Here, with her head on his chest, both of their breathing finally stilled, Tom thought of the in-between. Sometime in the middle of the night, one he was sure neither would claim much sleep in, Mary and Matthew would lie in a similar place, being neither here nor there. Then, beyond the stoplight, they'd no longer be at Downton but in a place completely different: passing through, then gone.

* * *

x. Elle


	33. While The World Let Go

**A/N**: If you didn't see when you got the alert, this chapter is almost 10,000 words. If you follow me on tumblr, I was pretty open with how much of this I struggled with, just because I felt I had a duty to Sybil and Tom to get it all *just right*. That being said, this has come a long, long way and I think I somehow managed to do them justice in this portrayal.

Enjoy!

* * *

"I'm never gonna let you go  
Your love's gonna save my soul  
And after all we've been through fire and smoke  
And through it all we've kept a hold of hope  
While the world let go."  
_While The World Let Go_ - A Rocket To The Moon

* * *

For a moment Sybil thought she must be dreaming. The morning was the kind where the sun was lazy, painting a floral pattern on the hardwood floors as it did its best to peak through the lace drapes, still minding those lost in slumber on the bed in the center of the room. Sybil expected rain on a day like today, or at least a few clouds to keep the sun from kissing her skin, lulling her out of a deep sleep in the same way she used to wake up Tom, raking her fingertip over the bridge of his nose.

Instead, Sybil turned over, lying on her back so she could slide out from underneath his grasp. Her duvet, one that used to cover them both up as they slowly made love, only covered her ankles now, and she moved again, ridding her body of it completely.

As she would have before, she leaned across the bed to kiss Tom's face. He stirred, his hands seeking her out, causing his eyes to blink open when they failed to find her. He would have reached up to rub at them if he wasn't so content with the feeling of the pads of his fingertips on the exposed skin of her hip.

Sometime in the middle of the night, Sybil woke up in a cold sweat. Feeling suffocated by her body's natural reaction to loss, she rid herself of the bathrobe she fell asleep in the night before, before settling back into Tom, careful not to wake him up. She didn't fall asleep right away though. Instead, she stared at him, happy that he was resting in the way he deserved. She enjoyed watching his chest rise and fall with each breath as his eyelids remained static, suggesting that perhaps he was lost in another world while in slumber. Wherever it was, she hoped it was peaceful there, and for a moment he was able to ignore all of the chaos currently surrounding them.

"Go back to sleep," she whispered.

He shook his head. "C'mere."

Not needing much coaxing, Sybil gave in, her eyelashes fluttering as Tom wrapped his arm around her neck and pulled her body back down onto the bed beside him.

"Morning breath," she whispered the warning into the crook of his shoulder. "But you smell good."

Tom chuckled. "Don't act so surprised." Sybil looked up to him and rolled her eyes. "Your grandmother is here."

"Is she?"

"Can't you smell the coffee?" Sybil shook her head, urging him to continue. "I heard her go in to Max's room before."

"Did you hear anything after that?"

"The shower. They're downstairs now."

Sybil sighed, rubbing her nose into the crook of Tom's neck. "I hate how softly you sleep. You need to get some rest," she insisted. If Tom didn't know her so well he would have thought she was angry. Maybe she was.

"Syb, I've slept alone for a year," he sighed. "Can't you just stay here with me? I just want to hold you for awhile..."

Sybil could only nod and Tom dipped his lips down to press against hers in appreciation. Together, they breathed in, inhaling for as long as they could before the need for air dissipated as they pulled away, only to attach again when Sybil reached up to cup Tom's cheek in her palm, her fingers dancing along the line of his chin where his early morning stubble was evident. Even after all these years, her backbone was still defenseless against him, especially when he still looked so sleepy, his blue eyes blinking as if to clarify the sight of having her this close again.

"This isn't like you, you know, to want to hide away from the world," Sybil commented. Somehow though, she looked straight ahead, her head pressed snugly into his shoulder, allowing her eyes to see the light tufts of hair on his chest as well as their luggage stacked haphazardly against the wall by the door. It was difficult to point at what it was that was out of place, especially when it seemed that nothing was right lately. Here though, where this bed was already trusted with far too many secrets, Sybil could acknowledge the disorder.

Tom looked down to her. "I'm not hiding out. I just think it's early and we have earned a day to stay in bed."

Finally, she looked up to him, needing to see if he'd finally give in and tell her the truth. "Is that what you want to do? Stay in bed all day?"

Tom shrugged before looking away, also unable to return her gaze. "I don't know. Just...don't you feel it? The house feels different today...sad," he said, his voice finding it difficult to settle on such a simple word.

Sybil looked up to Tom, her eyes blinking at a more rapid pace now as if to urge him to explain himself more fully. "Sad?" It was almost as if she had never heard the word, and found it especially foreign coming from her best friend's mouth.

"I'm sad for Max," Tom explained with a heavy sigh. "I'm sad for you."

"And for yourself," Sybil finished for him. "It's not fair to always be putting everyone else's emotions before your own, you know. I tease you about it but you do turn numb to it all and you know I hate that."

"I'm sorry..."

"Don't be sorry, Tom. I just—" Sybil stopped herself, exhaling softly, gaining composure before she could continue. "I was thinking in the tub last night and I had this idea and I'm sure you had the same idea, but can we pretend it was mine?"

Tom smiled, loving when Sybil rambled in defense of her own actions. It was like there'd never be enough words in her native tongue for Sybil to feel satisfied with the way she was. In the meantime, she'd talk fast, hoping the sound of her sentences meandering toward the big picture would distract the world from how disjointed her thoughts always seemed to be. To truly reveal how jumbled her mind was seemed all too scary for a girl that had spent her life practicing for performed perfection in different shades of white and pink.

Tom chuckled and leaned down to kiss Sybil's nose. "Sure."

"I was just thinking about how I have every right to be sad and angry and all of these other things, but that Max has an even bigger right. And I was him once, feeling so betrayed by the world over what my father had done, but all of that seems so petty now compared to what he must be feeling. My dad's an ass but he's still here. And it just...it's all so unfair and I want to lash out and I want to be childish and scream and throw a fit, but at the end of the day, it's not going to bring them back and it's most certainly not going to help him." Tom shrugged in agreement. "So I was just thinking, if you wanted, that you and I could be strong for him. And then at night, or whenever we're alone, then we can let go and act like children and—"

She wasn't given a chance to finish, as Tom had already leaned down to capture her lips against his own. Softly, he tasted her, using his thumb and forefinger to cup her chin and position it upward toward him, giving them a better angle from which to enjoy the moment.

"Okay," was all Tom could say after breaking away. Again, he leaned forward to place a lingering kiss to the corner of her mouth.

Sybil could only smile. "Okay."

After a few moments of silence, Tom spoke up. "I smell scones…"

"Oh, thank god. I thought I was the only one." She tapped at his stomach, urging him to get up out of the bed just as she soon did, pulling the covers off her body so she could walk to the bathroom to brush her teeth. When she was done, Tom entered, using the restroom then opening the door again, watching her move from her closet and then back to the bed to get changed. Quietly, he washed his hands, his face, and then brushed his teeth, all the while watching her in her simple black underwear, rummaging through her armoire to find something to wear. It was a routine they had long cherished, one that was allowed when they both decided to sleep in on school mornings only to have to rush to get to school in time. Then, they would forfeit breakfast and settle instead on tea they grabbed from the kitchen to be sipped quickly on the ride to school where they would argue over what songs were allowed to be played from Sybil's iPod, out of Tom's car speakers.

Slowly, they walked downstairs, deciding that things like shared showers and their usual planned Sunday laziness could wait. They followed the smell, and dropped their smiles when it brought them to the dining room, where Max and Martha sat silently, their respective meals in front of them. Martha was busy spreading butter on toast before biting at the bread, chewing while she stared at Max. The way in which her eyes darted back and forth showed that she was afraid if she took her eyes off of him, he may disappear. She could monitor his emotions this way, and prepare herself to respond to any questions or comments he might have, as if this were a psychiatric evaluation and not a simple breakfast shared between relatives.

Max returned Martha's gaze, not smiling in the way he normally would have, but looking up, then down again, his fork prodding at the food on his plate to make it all look less untouched. Unlike the morning breakfasts he shared with his parents, this environment was much more calculated, and it made him nervous. Aside from the silence, Max was also unnerved by the lack of plates being passed back and forth between he and his father, giving his mother time to get up every so often to refill tea mugs or answer the phone. He loved his great-grandmother and was pleased to see her after a year of phone calls and envelopes of money sent in the mail, he just wished she weren't here so suddenly and for these reasons, reasons he had not even acknowledged, out of fear of doing so would be to say goodbye forever. As he continued to play with his food, he did his best to remember if he had even said a proper farewell to his parents before running outside to catch his ride to school on the Friday before.

"Sybil," Martha let out. Her granddaughter brought her to her feet and Martha glided across the room, grabbing for Sybil's shoulders to pull the child in. "Oh my sweet girl…"

"Hi granmamma," Sybil managed, her voice much less cheery than it had been a year ago when she greeted her grandmother at her coastal home on the Cape. Soon though, she was holding onto her grandmother in the way she was remembered she used to, when the only thing that truly hurt were scraped knees. Sybil was sure that after the loss of a husband, her own grandmother was used to the act her and Tom only just agreed to. This was growing up, Sybil thought. This was life and all of its unfortunate idiosyncrasies, ones that would occur whether you acknowledged them or not. She understood, and was forced to accept this. Soon, Max would have to join her in this way of thinking, and she hated this fact, how the children are sometimes pushed to grow up too quickly for reasons beyond their control.

"Sit, sit," Martha insisted. "I have Mrs. Patmore making your favorites right now. Scones and porridge " she tried. "Oh, my grandbaby," Martha settled, hugging Sybil again.

"I'm fine, granmamma," Sybil muttered, doing her best not to let Max hear her words despite her urgency in having him know this. "I'm fine."

Sybil walked to the table, allowing Martha to pull Tom in for a hug. "Hello, Tom."

Tight-lipped, Tom smiled, before leaning in to hug Martha and place a kiss to her cheek. "Hi Martha."

"You've been taking care of our Sybil, I hear?"

Tom nodded. "I've been trying. But she's a tough one…"

Martha nodded at Tom, a sly smile overtaking her features. "That she is, my boy. That she is..."

"How is he?" Tom asked, nodding toward Max. Martha ignored Tom's wish to be quiet in their discussion as she began to walk away, hoping he would follow. "Last night..." Tom tried, but his voice trailed off, unsure of what it was he was planning to reveal. Would he tell her about the story of the thunderstorm or how it was he who cried when Max refused to truly let him in? Neither story seemed to form a solid case in either boy's favor.

Martha clasped her hands in front of her. "Yes, well…"

At the table, Carson arranged two place settings across from Martha and Max. Already he was pouring tea into Sybil's cup, ready to grab the pot of coffee for Tom, sure the boy would request it now that it was already made for Martha. For as much as Carson never understood Tom, he once had a lovely friendship with his mother, and since her passing, spent almost every Saturday night asking the boy if he'd like coffee at breakfast the following morning. Tom always said no, but on more than one occasion, Carson thought of urging Mrs. Patmore to make it. The act of kindness was never brought to fruition, but it lingered in his mind even as the boy grew up into the man he was today, in love with Sybil and now out of the house and out of Carson's care completely.

Sybil's sought Tom out, causing her glance to move up from her lap where she had just laid down her linen napkin. Her eyes landed on his, blue upon steel grey. It left her breathless for a moment as they drank one another in, but then she exhaled and shook her head, as if to dismiss any and all thoughts she was currently having. She turned back to her nephew. "Max, ask Tom what you just asked me, will you?" Sybil looked to Tom, her eyes widening as if to warn him of the unpleasant feeling headed his way.

Max sighed, still pushing at his waffles. He looked up, but rested his head on his hand, clearly frustrated. "Can we go see a movie?"

Tom looked away from Sybil, understanding now what her hesitance was all about. He too sighed. "Today?"

"Whenever," Max stated.

"Maybe next weekend?" Tom offered. "Did you know what movie you wanted to see?"

"Any of them."

Slowly, Tom nodded. He realized what all of this meant, and he wished he had a better answer to it all. It was clear Sybil wished the same thing, as she reached her hand over to rest on his knee. He didn't have the answers when he was eleven, and now he felt empty, finding them still missing somewhere between nineteen and twenty.

Martha sat forward. "Max was telling me his suit is back home and that he—"

"I'm right here," Max spat. "You don't need to talk about me like I'm not in the room." He dropped his fork and reached forward to pick up his chocolate milk. "I can tell her."

Sybil looked to her grandmother, then to Tom. She wasn't sure why, but suddenly she wanted to berate her nephew for acting like this. Then she remembered what she wished her own parents could realize: he was a child, and though he was often wise beyond his years, he did not deserve to be faulted for seemingly immature behavior, behavior that was actually quite appropriate for his age.

"We'll get your suit, Max," Tom assured. "Do you want us to get anything else for you?"

"My gameboy. And my Wii. Actually, can I just come? You'll probably forget some things…"

Tom stiffened at Max's reluctance to be kind with him. It was clear their usual rapport was lost on the both of them, replaced with a cold energy that filled the room like electricity, a nuisance to all occupants of the long table. At the loss of his parents, it seemed the rules had changed. Things like manners and politeness and the usual warmth he felt toward his family was thrown to the wayside. He owed today no favors, and life from here on out was merely a long list of tasks done to ensure he made it out on top. It wasn't too long ago that Tom's own world was violently shaken and turned upside down, leaving him, merely a young boy then, to work to turn it all around. "Sure. Whatever you want, bud," he said, repeating something he was certain Robert had said to him once.

Again, Max was pushing at his waffles, watching them stick to the plate the more he pushed them about, absorbing the syrup, bumping occasionally into the strawberries he had passed over in his morning mood where no mother or father existed to urge the child to eat healthily. "Where's granmum and pa?"

Sybil looked to Martha, unsure of the answer herself. "Sleeping, I assume."

"I'm sure if you wanted them to get up, they would," Sybil added.

Tom leaned forward, grabbing the pot of jam to spread on his scones. This wasn't his favorite breakfast, or rather, it wasn't anymore. He actually couldn't remember the last time he had eaten breakfast beyond a piece of toast and a to-go cup of coffee, both grabbed quickly on the way out the door before his brisk walk to work each morning.

Sybil noticed his apprehension and leaned into him, "Are you okay? I'm sorry if—"

Tom shook his head, ridding his mind of its current thoughts. "Yeah, yeah, it's fine. I'm fine," he corrected.

Sybil looked away, then back to her boyfriend. "We'll talk later," she said, hoping he heard the words she couldn't hear, ones he was sure she would mutter into his skin later as they cried together, far removed from here.

~!~

"Does my hair look okay up? It's just so humid out right now and I imagine it will get worse as the day goes on," she tried to explain.

Tom walked up behind Sybil, using the same mirror she was standing in front of to straighten his tie. He looked at her and beamed, finding her beautiful and lovely no matter her attire. Currently though, she looked stunning, and he would have told her if he could find words that wouldn't seem inappropriate amongst all the current sadness.

It seemed that Sybil also forgot about her question. No longer caring about her hair or the way the lace sleeves of her dress cut awkwardly above her elbow, she turned around, her mind immediately zeroing in on Tom's tie. She watched as his hands voluntarily fell, practically inviting her own to take their place.

"You know," Sybil tried, "I only know how to do this because of you."

"What?"

"I did your tie for your mum's wake, do you remember?"

Tom smiled. "I do." But his smile quickly faded as he remembered so much more about that day. He was no better now, forcing laughter to conceal the pain he still felt, the anger really, at feeling abandoned by your parents at such a young age. It wasn't fair, and if he could somehow control it, he wouldn't allow Max to think this way. At nineteen, and with Sybil's persistence, Tom was only just learning how to better himself and dig himself out of these deep, dark holes he so often found himself at the bottom of. There was no sense in making room for two down there, where thoughts weighed so heavily on the mind they somehow crushed other beautiful parts like the soul and the heart and the spine.

Unaware of the uneasy feeling in his gut, Sybil undid the knot Tom had made and smoothed out the soft silk material of his tie. "The night before I begged my dad to show me how." She smoothed the thicker end of the tie over the shorter, much thinner end, looping it around itself, before pulling it back down. "And it was only after my mum told me she didn't have time. But my dad sat with me for nearly an hour, watching as I undoubtedly ruined one of his favorite ties." She repeated her action from before, this time lacing the thick end of the tie through the open knot left behind in its previous wake. "But he said nothing." She tightened the knot she had created, sliding the fabric up to fasten it around Tom's neck. Her hands dropped as her eyes brightened, taking in her work. "And then I nearly messed up your tie because yours was much shorter than my dad's and I was so angry…"

Tom chuckled. His smile only faded when he looked in the mirror and saw the half-windsor knot Sybil had made, resting perfectly below the top button of his dress shirt. Unlike the tie she had attempted for his mother's wake, and the funeral that followed, this one was nearly perfect. There were no creases at the ends from where the sweat of Sybil's nervous movements had been too insistent with the delicate fabric. It was not too tight, or too loose, but he thought of teasing her later, suggesting that she test the knots resistance, hopefully releasing it completely before throwing the material to the floor. It was these thoughts that ran through his mind lately, ones that made him feel like an adolescent with needs he could not control. He was past all of that now, but he would admit that it was still the actions of her soft curves and plump lips that promised him security in the way no words ever could.

Sybil went to walk away, but he stopped her. It was a simple gesture, his hand on her hip, but rather quickly, she softened into him, moving so that her back was pressed into his chest, allowing her head to extend back and rest on his shoulder.

She wanted to cry, but she willed herself to stop, finding lately that blinking slowly took some of the sting away. "I'm going to be a mess, Tom. I don't know if...I don't know if I'll be able to keep up with my half of the deal."

"You can cry, Syb. Nobody wants you to hold that in."

"I'm worried about Max though. Did you see him yesterday? What child walks into their home, knowing their parents are gone, and just acts as if nothing is wrong? The light in Matthew's office was on and he just coldly walked over to the lamp and turned it off. And then I told him that Carson could iron his suit back at Downton but he refused and insisted that he use the steamer in their bedroom. He didn't even flinch! He just opened the door and walked in. And all I could do was watch him…"

"Oh, Syb…" Tom tightened the grip he had around her waist, holding her close. His other hand moved upward, resting atop Sybil's on her shoulder. He didn't have an opinion of her hair before, but now he was thankful it was pulled up off her neck, as he leaned down to nip at the skin of her neck. She sighed, perhaps even moaning a bit, before hastily turning around to cup his face in her hands. It was hungry and hurried and breathless. They pulled away only to reposition themselves, with Sybil leaning her weight into Tom, her hands upon the lapels of his jacket in hopes of bringing his heaving chest just that much closer.

"We can't," Tom whispered, dropping his forehead down to hers. "We can't. We can't…" he tried again, this time allowing his voice to trail off.

With her eyes still closed, Sybil nodded. "I know."

She reached down to hold his hand. It was the easiest thing they'd do all day, to hold onto one another like this. With her other hand, she grabbed his suit jacket from off the bed, and draped the garment over her arm. "Ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be."

"Just like before, right? Don't leave my side. And when we get back here tonight, we can let go. We can—"

"Be ourselves?" Tom offered.

"Perfect."

Tom shook his head. "No, not perfect," he sighed. "Anything but perfect."

~!~

The procession into the Downton chapel was a slow one, marked by the pair of coffins, rolling in on their church trucks. Those in the pews hid their faces beneath hats and scarves, already dabbing at the tears falling from their eyes. The church was the most crowded Sybil had ever seen it, and for a tiny building, she was sure it hadn't even seen this much company on Christmas. All of the mourners in their blacks and grays were stuck as the procession moved forward, overwhelming the tiny chapel in the same way a black cloud would overwhelm the current mid-morning sky.

It seemed that not even with Downton's rough history, had this place of prayer been built with the simultaneous death of two in mind. Sybil and Tom knew, and they were sure everyone else would admit, this was one of the most difficult things in the world to fathom: the death a couple, so young and happy and vibrant - loved and loving. The harshness of it was demarcated by the fact that it was not planned, that none of this was. Unlike the wedding rehearsal Sybil and Tom once attended in this same chapel, everyone moved slowly, their minds unable to convince their feet to hurry when it was their hearts in control and completely incapable of letting go. There were no smiles, or bright summer frocks like there were then. That was so long ago; Sybil merely loved Tom, but she wasn't in love with him yet. He was her constant though, and just as he practiced walking up to the altar with her that day, he did the same thing now, going as far as to let her drop her head on his shoulder, while resting most of her weight into his side, picking up her feet and walking forward only because he did the same. Never before had she been this hesitant with her movements, and though Tom assured her that she could cry, and she knew she would, she didn't expect for her eyes to already be bloodshot and for her skin to be this pink with disappointment, all before the opening hymn.

Silence overcame the church as one by one, each prominent family member shuffled into their reserved pews up front. In the first row, Robert, Cora and Isobel sat by themselves. Max, who was originally carried in by Robert, had moved at the last minute to stand with Sybil and Tom. It didn't seem to matter to anyone, as the three parents in the first row sat motionless, mimicking the final stages of the dead with their glossed over eyes and their still breathing. Nobody seemed to be able to take their eyes off the row behind that: Sybil and Tom with Max, and Anthony and Edith. Behind them were people like Martha and Violet, people who in other circumstances would not get along, but here could find no other reaction to one another but to pass tissues and feign bravery. Both of them had lost husbands, but to be at their age and have to watch their own grandchildren go was a fate they never wished to endure. It seemed all too cruel that they not be taken first, as if God was playing a sick trick, allowing death to punish the living for a small mistake from once upon a time. Even so, to discover that mistake and go back in time to fix it, would not rearrange the present. They're still be gone, Sybil tried to convince herself. They're gone, her mind incessantly chanted.

Cousin Rose, Aunt Rosamund, and other family members moved more quickly, doing their best to fill in the seats so that the ceremony could start, only to eventually end. Amongst the crowd, they all hoped they could be more speedy, and that things like prayers and funeral hymns could be forgotten, allowing for the mahogany boxes, both currently draped with prayer linens, to be disrobed and made bare, prepared for their final resting place beneath the earth.

Sybil didn't remember much of the funeral service. At the start, she wrapped an arm around Max, while her other hand rested in Tom's lap, holding a firm grip onto his fingers, so calloused, warm, and familiar. She didn't sing along, and it took deep heavy sighs for her to speak with the rest of the chamber, several "Amen's" escaping her throat like fire leaving a clogged exhaust system.

It was all a reminder of how she had learned to hide pain from a young age, tucking her feet, then so delicate and supple, into the box of her pointe shoes. As a ballerina she was taught to deal with the pain and despite all of it, put on a beautiful performance that led everyone else to believe that she was okay, perfectly fine, even. When people would ask if the shoes on her feet were uncomfortable, she would merely smile and shake her head, laughing as she said: "No." She found people who asked those questions to be silly even though it was her who could not admit to the truth. Like dancing, denial also seemed to be second nature.

During the service, the priest talked of patience, and of praising God for his compassion, but Sybil found neither here, and she knew she would struggle just like everyone else to find it in the graveyard around back, and in all of the other days that would surely follow this one. She could not chalk this up to fate or timing or destiny. Compassionate people, she thought, do not take what is not theirs and hurt those around them and it is not patience that heals, but time. Like a bandaid, time merely covers the wounds, but Sybil knew that she could wait and wait forever and still never forgive this world or the God that controlled it for taking Mary and Matthew away from her and her family. It would be hard to believe now, harder than it ever was after she found out about her father's affair, and then again when Tom had his accident this time last year. There was good in the world, she knew that much, but it was hard to have faith in an all powerful being when such beautiful things were stolen from the universe so carelessly.

"Aunt Sybil?" Max asked, pulling Sybil out of her current reverie. She picked her head up from its place on Tom's shoulder, only to find that her parents and Edith and Anthony all cast worried glances upon her. "We're going outside now," Max said.

He then offered his aunt his hand, something that almost made Tom crack as he helped her to stand. It was his turn to follow now, and with nothing more than a guiding touch to the small of her back, he watched the ground, his eyes studying her shoes and the shoes much like the ones he had on that Max wore, treading along the summer grass. The church must have been rather hot, because he noticed the drop in temperature immediately upon hitting the threshold between the building and its grounds. Outside, the sun was somewhat blinding, no longer manipulated into a spectrum of color by the stained glass windows of saints behind the altar.

A scene that was all too familiar sat before him: white wooden chairs, lined up in rows underneath a tent, and in front of them, two gaping holes in the earth, protected now with green AstroTurf and coffin stands. The white prayer linens must have been removed while they were processing out, because the two coffins stood independent of one another now, forcing Tom to think of a time in his life when Mary and Matthew were not together. He was young then, and so was she, but it seemed that Mary's presence in his life only truly began when Matthew came around and she was able to understand the power behind loving someone unconditionally. This bond was strengthened a year later when Max was born.

Before he knew it, he was sitting again. Even with the finality of the service nearing, everything was just as it was inside. Sybil did not hold his hand any tighter, and the vicar did not speak any louder to compete with the soft wind. Meaningless prayers offered no consolation and this just seemed to be a gathering of family and friends, brought together to mourn as a large group. At the end of the ceremony, the priest said one final prayer, before offering time for everyone in attendance to come forward and pay their respects. It was this that Max could not handle, and for as much as they all wished to be able to understand, only one person amongst them actually could.

When it happened, Tom didn't know why he reacted the way he did. He quickly looked to Sybil and kissed her forehead, before dropping her hand and moving to run after Max. Suddenly Max was the focus, and silently everyone watched as one boy ran after the other, all the way around to the front of the church and toward the road, where a Tuesday morning commute into London had already begun.

"MAX!" Tom bellowed. "Don't run into the road!"

"Leave me alone, Tom!"

Tom sighed, and then choked back the only sentiment he found to be appropriate. "No way."

"I just want to go home."

"I'll walk with you," Tom offered, still trying to catch up to the child.

"No!" Max stomped. "I'm taking the train back."

It clicked and Tom thought of Max in his suit and tie, a heartbroken child forced to take a train ride by himself to a cold and empty house he once called a home. "I'll go with you then. C'mon bud, you can't go into the city by yourself."

Tom was almost to him now. Max had run across the street as soon as the light turned red and somehow made it safely to the other side. It seemed as if the same God that took his parents away had somehow managed to protect the young boy, even as he continued to walk out of the center of town and back toward Downton.

"Stop!" Tom yelled before grabbing Max by the arm.

"NO!" Max yelled again. "Leave me ALONE, Tom!" His voice was louder, and much more angry than Tom had ever heard. Usually calm and reserved, every emotion Max had ever kept inside was finally out, and it blended in the way that all of the vibrant colors of the rainbow did, mixing into the most vile shade of brown.

Instinctively, Tom went down to Max's level, pulling the boy in. Right away, he noticed the Crawley reaction, one where usually warm and caring people pushed those who meant the most to them away. He felt the pounding of Max's fists into the back of his suit jacket but unlike Sybil's typical resistance, Tom thought for a moment that Max might actually be angry enough to bruise his skin. He didn't blame him though; Max could have all of the work Tom had done to heal if it meant he would stop crying and shaking.

"Nobody understands!" Max wept, finally settling down. His limbs were not moving in the way they did before. He merely leaned into Tom with his hands wrapped tightly around his neck. "My parents are dead."

Tom sighed, and hugged the boy with everything in him. "My parents are dead too, Max."

It was this that had Max lifting his head off of Tom's shoulder. He had never known Tom with parents but it finally occurred to him that this much older boy that he always considered to be like an uncle, and on most days, a friend, was no different than him. Yet for as much as Max always wanted to be like Tom, he wished it didn't have to be on this level.

Without them knowing, Sybil had watched all of this, and continued to do so now with a hand pressed to her quivering lips. Her face was red and she had completely let go, sobbing and shaking as two of the most important people in her life shared a moment of clarity. It was touching and heartbreaking all at the same time, and she held herself, feeling like she had no other option after being dealt such a swift blow to the gut.

There was safety and security here even amongst all of the loss, and as they walked back to the now sparse grave plot, Tom helped Max to say goodbye to his parents. He also promised him that whenever he needed to return, he would go with him. The part that Max didn't hear, but that Sybil surely saw, was the bits of Tom, his ugly parts, helping a much younger version of himself to confront what he, at almost twenty, was still unable to do. It was the reason he never went to the cemetery to see his mother, and it was the reason Sybil knew little of his father beyond his full name and favorite Irish dish.

If you didn't talk about it, it didn't happen and if you don't grieve the dead, they never truly leave you.

~!~

Sybil had only attended one other funeral in her life, and it was for Helen Branson. After that, as per a distant relatives request, there was a gathering at Downton with food and liquor and a constant flow of warm tea. Sybil found the laughter of Mrs. Branson's close friends to be alarming, but Tom assured her this was all fairly typical of an Irish funeral. The funeral, he said, was meant to be a celebration of life and an acceptance of God giving motion to a much larger plan. It was not to be questioned, and when the day was done, everyone was meant to be so exhausted (and somewhat inebriated) that they'd no longer have time to weep over the dead. Downton was built for parties like that one, and now, without the laughter or the food, it seemed as empty as it ever had been.

When they returned home from the service, hired help was already busy setting out a spread of sandwiches, tea, and various pastries and sweets. Carson and Mrs. Hughes moved to change quickly and went to help them, but it didn't seem to matter either way, as everyone hurried through their meal only to then retire to their rooms to sleep.

It was only two or three in the afternoon then, but Sybil considered the day over. When she awoke sometime a few hours later, the sun had set, and the house's darkness was emphasized, allowing the ancient structure to disguise itself in the night. From her position sprawled out on her bed, she saw the stars outside, and how still no clouds existed to hide them from her eyes. The bed where Tom had previously held her while they cried together before passing out from exhaustion was empty. The window was cracked open and even with her face pressed into her pillow she could see the light on in the garage out back.

Standing now, Sybil reached around her back to unzip her dress. Once her arms were out of the sleeves, the bodice fell to the ground and she stepped out of it, before walking to her armoire to retrieve a t-shirt and a pair of yoga shorts. In any other world, with her hair in a messy knot atop her head, Sybil would have looked like a typical dancer heading off for the studio, but here, she had more important things to do, and honestly couldn't remember when it was she danced last.

Not thinking, Sybil ran around the front of the house, to the back, sprinting across the field toward the light on in the garage. Tom saw her coming and smiled, before he saw her feet, already bandaged from their usual distress, exposed to the cool night's air.

"Wait," he requested, and she did, knowing what was coming next. Tom wiped his hands on a rag he grabbed from his workbench, then threw the rag back toward his toolkit. He stepped into Sybil now and picked her up, hoisting her small frame up onto him, so he could put her right back down, this time on the cleared off counter space next to the sink. She wanted to smile, and maybe she would have, but all too quickly she was reminded of how much was wrong in her world, and how this particular world had been Tom's reality for much longer than either of them would care to admit.

"What are you working on?"

Tom shrugged. "I don't know, really. I just haven't been out here in awhile I guess, and I wanted to pull the car around..."

"Can we talk?"

Tom looked to Sybil, trying to figure out what it was she wished to discuss. He shrugged. "I guess."

"I hate how you don't talk about it," she said quickly, knowing no other way but the truth to attack this issue. "You don't speak about how they were when they were alive and you certainly don't talk about them now that they're dead."

"Sybil, please…"

"No!" she shouted back, just needing him to give in. "No!" it came again. "You are my best friend Tom and you always criticize me for not opening up...what about you? It broke my heart to see you and Max have that moment together today and I just feel so guilty because I've been nothing but a player in this game where you act as if you've just never had parents."

"Jesus Christ, Sybil! I said not now!"

She jumped down off the bench, no longer caring what he'd say about the dangers of walking around the garage in bare feet. Actually, she hoped it would upset him. He needed to feel something, anything right now. Denial was a state of mind, not an emotion, she told herself. "If you can't confront it then how do you expect Max to? People aren't cars, Tom! You can't just spend hours fixing them and then lock them away in a room until they're ready to be used and shown off. And you need to stop running!"

Tom sighed, finally stepping into Sybil. "I'm not running, Sybil. I've accepted that my parents are dead, okay?" He was angry and this was evident, shown most clearly by the crease in his forehead. Somehow though, there was sadness beneath it all in his eyes, saturated in tears, ones she was sure he would be hesitant to let fall. "I accepted a long time ago that it's just me left. Please stop bringing it up, okay?" He turned away but quickly spun around, his lips practically upon her as he spoke back. "Do you think this is fun for me? Do you think it's fun for me to have to watch Max go through this? I hate it. I don't wish this upon anyone, but certainly not him. But you're right! People aren't cars. Sometimes the damage actually makes us stronger. Sometimes we don't need fixing. Sometimes we fix ourselves."

"It doesn't make you stronger, it makes you stupid! And you're not alone, so how dare you!"

"How dare me?" Tom spat. "How about how dare you? Why do we have to talk about this now, Sybil? What made you want to come down here and hash all of this out NOW?" he emphasized. "Max needs the help here, not me!"

"You both need the help! He is you right now! Because whether or not you want to admit it, you never get over having both of your parents gone. That 'all alone' feeling doesn't go away…" Sybil's voice trailed off as she choked out a sob. Immediately, Tom wished to go to her, to offer her his own frame for support, but he knew she'd pull away. "I tried Tom but it's not enough! You need to confront it and by god, I will help you, but you need to let me all the way in!"

From the weight of the situation, Tom leaned back against the side of the car, quickly dropping his head into his hands. Outstretched palms normally good for prayer now acted as a covering, hiding his tear stained face from the one person in the world he was sure would not judge him for it. Slowly, he talked himself into opening his eyes, and going to her, but she was already there, standing in the space between his legs, her arms wrapped tightly around his midsection.

"I don't want you to ever feel alone, okay? And you're not alone...I'm right here." And then: "I'm not going anywhere," she sniffled, sure her makeup was staining the sleeve of his grey shirt.

"I know," Tom nodded, his head still dropped to her shoulder, drinking her in. "I'm sorry for yelling."

Sybil picked her head up and pulled away from Tom. Her hands reached up, pushing away the tears still gliding down her cheeks. "It's fine," she chuckled, finally feeling ridiculous for reacting in this way. "I just—"

Tom reached forward and pulled her into him again. "I know."

Sybil simply let her hands fall from his shoulders and then rest, linked tightly behind his back as she gave in to the embrace. Again, her head rested upon him. "We can talk about it, you know."

Tom lifted his head. "Talk about what?"

"How we were together when they died. How we ignored our phones to be together. How I chose you over them—"

"Ah, fuck, Syb…"

"I know you wanted to talk about it last night," Sybil offered, her breathing becoming erratic again. "I know you know that I've thought about it. Haven't you thought about it too?"

"Sybil, please. That has nothing to do with…" He stopped himself, deciding that he needed to calm down before continuing to speak. Hadn't he just apologized for yelling? This was all so unlike them but even amidst all of this and the stress they were both clearly feeling, he couldn't allow his temper to get the better of him. He just wished this was something she didn't always need to be convinced of.

"I know there's no correlation. I just think about it sometimes. They think I'm choosing you and maybe I have."

"You don't have to choose, Syb. It doesn't have to be me or them, isn't that what Mary and Matthew always used to say? Why can't we be normal? Why can't you have your family and have me as your boyfriend? This isn't…"

"I was thinking in the tub last night, how maybe if I picked up the phone or if we hadn't been so impatient, then maybe we would have gotten to the hospital sooner and then…" Sybil's voice cracked. She dropped her mouth back down onto Tom's shoulder, rolling her lips inward to keep the tears from falling.

"Say it," he whispered. The grasp he had around her waist was unwavering.

"I don't have anything else to say."

Tom sighed. Right away he knew he should fight her just like she had fought him, but all too quickly he found he was exhausted, and that for as liberating as it was to have her pry his secrets out of the lockbox that was his mind, he didn't know if he had the strength to return the favor tonight.

Thinking better of it all, and no longer wanting to fight, he muttered a simple "fine" before scooping Sybil up in his arms. She yelped, but her arms moved to position themselves around his neck, with her legs following a similar protocol around his waist. This was one of their favorite ways to make love, notably because it allowed Tom to fill her completely, and for the two of them to be as close as they ever had been. Somehow though, no thoughts of that crossed either of their minds as Tom hit the light by the door and began walking back toward the house.

"Don't drop me," she whispered.

Tom laughed and thought of pretending to lose his grip upon her. When he saw her eyes and the way she pressed a kiss to his jawline, he thought better of it. He wouldn't drop her - not here, not ever.

As they only had one other time in their life, Tom managed to get all the way through the house and up to Sybil's room with her still latched onto him. He made an off-color remark about it having something to do with the weight she lost at school, which earned him a well placed slap just as soon as the door was shut against its jamb.

Though her legs were no longer around his waist, Sybil kept her arms around his neck and leaned up on her toes to kiss his nose. Her eyelashes fluttered, but when she opened them, he was kissing her back, this time applying pressure to her lips with his own. She smiled through the kiss and stumbled back, her hands unclasped, but playing with the short hairs at the nape of his neck. When her knees hit the bed, she dropped an arm down, using it to steady herself as she sat down, then scooted back to rest upon the pillows. As they had so many times before, Tom covered her, but did so only after he threw off his shirt and got rid of his belt, something they once learnt irritated Sybil's skin as they moved against one another.

"Jeans too," she instructed, and Tom obliged, only after she gave him a kiss first, promising him of what was to come.

Soon he was atop of her, his arms traveling against the skin beneath her shirt. Her hands were still in his hair, moving up to the crown of his head when he dropped his lips down to kiss at her cleavage. He sucked at the skin there, causing Sybil to sigh in pleasure. Seductively, Tom picked up his head to gauge her reaction and found it was no different than what he was expecting; elated and for the first time that day, at peace. But when he dropped his face down to hers, to give her another reason to smile, he felt them, hot, wet tears pooling out of her eyes.

Worried, he looked down. "Syb? Did I—"

Already, she had covered her head with her hands, and was now shaking her head back and forth underneath them, as if to indicate that this was not his doing.

"I just miss them," she choked out. She sniffled, then used the back of her hand to wipe at her nose. Tom didn't even flinch; he rolled off of her and leaned over to the bedside table to grab her a few tissues.

"Here."

"Thanks," she murmured. "I'm sorry. I just don't think I can tonight…"

"Okay."

"Tom, please don't be like that."

He was leaning against the headboard now, with pillows propped up behind him. His arms were crossed over his naked chest, and the tick of his watch could be heard in the silence. He exhaled. "I know you say it doesn't bother you, but I know it does. What I don't know is what I've ever done to you to make you think anything you say to me is going to send me running. I'm not going anywhere," he said firmly, repeating her earlier words back to her.

"Can I say something?" he finally asked, no longer accepting the silence. She just nodded, but it was clear she was hesitant for whatever it was that was about to come her way. "I'm going to sound like an ass and I'm sorry for that but please don't pull away notwhen we've worked so hard..."

"This isn't about sex."

"This is always about sex, Sybil. And it's always about sex with you and me because it's never been just sex for us, don't you get that? I just need you to separate the two..."

Again she was crying, but she didn't cover her face with her hands like he expected to. She laid back, staring blankly at him, wondering what it was that he wanted from her.

"I just don't want you to forget who we are and what we stand for, okay? Forget them. You said it, alright? At the end of the day, it's just you and me…" Tom sighed. "Now will you please talk to me?"

Sybil moved toward him, repositioning her body so that she was soft against him. Her knees were bent on either side of him, and her palms laid flat against his chest. Tom could only watch, all the while internally wincing as he waited for what she was about to say. When it came, he could only exhale, releasing all pent up apprehension, stored from when he first connected the two ideas; death, and a certain kind of life.

"I haven't felt alive since then," she admitted, her voice sounding so pure and sweet, he was sure she had somehow not just been crying. "And I'm really tired of running from that or feeling ashamed of it or guilty. When I'm with you, it's the only time I feel safe and whole and good. You make me want to be better, Tom. And right now with Max, I don't know how you do it, but I want to be better for him too, because of you. And I don't know a lot lately. I don't know what I'm going to do about school next year, or even how I'm going to get through today, but I just know you're going to be there to help me get through it and I am so, so thankful for you…"

She wasn't crying, but he was. He leaned in to kiss her nose, but she stopped him, the pads of her thumbs already dabbing at the soft skin beneath his eyes. "Don't cry. You look stupid," she teased, knowing it would make him laugh. Then: "I love you," she offered, almost as a question.

"I love you too, Syb."

The world didn't stop for her; she knew that now. The weather, amongst other things, did not depend on her and her alone. There were other people in this world, some who she imagined had fallen in love with today. Somewhere else there were birthdays and weddings and anniversaries to celebrate, and the sun in the sky was for them. Someday, when it was her birthday, or her wedding or her anniversary, she'd thank the weather patterns for allowing sunshine, sure that not once would she ever think of those in the world who were expecting rain.

* * *

As I normally do, I encourage reviews, but more so in this case because this was something that was heavily edited (even more so than usual) before posting. Is anyone else as exhausted as I was reading through this?

x. Elle


	34. Home

**A/N**: Another 10,000 word chapter? And the one-shot I just posted was almost 10,000+ words. I'm not entirely sure why, but I just go with it, and I hope everyone else does too. I know it's sometimes a bit daunting to read something this long, but I promise I've tried to make it all relevant. Annnnyyywayyyy! Enjoy! And please review! I love to hear *anything* you have to say!

Oh, and everyone make sure you say HAPPY EFFIN' BIRTHDAY to **PiperHolmes**! Exact wording is required.

* * *

"'Cause they say home is where your heart is set in stone  
Is where you go when you're alone  
Is where you go to rest your bones  
It's not just where you lay your head  
It's not just where you make your bed  
As long as we're together, does it matter where we go?"  
_Home_ - Gabrielle Aplin

* * *

Sybil had just sent Tom into the bathroom with a kiss when she heard a light rap on her bedroom door. Immediately, she knew who it was, and she smiled as she yelled a quick "one second!" over her shoulder. With the sound of the water already running, she made little show as she slipped into a t-shirt and jeans, hoping that somewhere in his luggage, Tom had a cardigan she could wear. Then, before walking to the door to unlock it, she headed for the bathroom, kicking the wood flat against its jamb with her foot. Even though Tom was in the shower and beneath the cover of steam and a thick pane of glass, Sybil still preferred that her grandmother not see all of her boyfriend, even if it would just be his naked silhouette.

Another knock, and Sybil sighed, shaking her head as if to laugh, before finally walking to the door. She unlocked it, and just as she did so, it popped open, Martha's weight being enough to send the door ajar so she could enter.

"Does your father know Tom is showering in here?" Martha asked quickly. It was clear she was planning the conversation she meant to have with her granddaughter well before she was granted entrance into her room. It was one she had been meaning to have since Cora called her nearly a year ago, explaining to her mother the depth of the relationship between Sybil and Tom.

"No," Sybil said simply. "Are you going to tell him?"

"Well, of course not."

"You're just inquiring for fun then?"

Martha extended her arm, handing Sybil one of the mugs of tea she had brought up; a piping hot peace offering. "Is this Tom's side?" Sybil rolled her eyes and Martha took this as permission to set the other mug down on the bedside table near Tom's laptop and glasses. "Sybil, I'm your grandmother. It's my job to annoy you and worry," she commented, explaining why she was suddenly so curious.

Sybil ran a comb through her hair. "I thought your job was to go against my parents and just do whatever I ask."

"You're sassy," Martha said, inviting herself to sit on Sybil's bed while her granddaughter moved from here to there, now applying mascara while her hair rested in a wet bun atop her head. "And no, that's not my role," she corrected before thinking better of it all. "Though I'd say I do a fine job of that as well. You know I'm always on your side."

Sybil sipped at her tea, smiling as she tasted the sweetness of a sugar cube, mixed with the citrus of the lemon. Her grandmother knew exactly how she took it and unlike the rest of the people in her life, not once had she ever criticized her for it. "I know. Thank you."

Martha sat back. In doing so, she noticed the bed, fully unmade, with Sybil's soft duvet rolled into a messy clump in the center. She pulled at the sheet, inspecting, wondering if this was Sybil's usual untidiness or more that allowed for such disorder. "How are things?" Martha asked, setting, releasing the grip her fingers had on the comforter.

"Granmumma..." Sybil groaned.

"Well you don't have female friends, you have Tom. And if you're dating Tom then who do you talk to about these things?"

"Mary."

Martha nodded before looking away, unable to hold the icy grey stare Sybil was now casting at her. "I'm sorry," she began.

Sybil shook her head. "You didn't know."

"I'm thinking of moving here, you know..."

Sybil lifted her head. "What?"

"I would sell the house in Rhode Island and just keep Provincetown," Martha explained.

"Oh please do," Sybil urged, which instantly made Martha smile.

"I just feel the lot of you could use some help and there's no sense in me dying alone when my family is here."

"Granmumma, please don't talk like that."

"Death is natural, Sybil. What happened to Mary and Matthew is an exception to that rule, but let it be a lesson to you that the only certain thing in this life is that we all eventually die."

"Still, I don't like to think about it..."

"Then don't. But it shouldn't be ignored either," Martha warned. "I'm sure this isn't the warm condolence you're craving right now but—"

"No, thank you," Sybil tried. "I get it."

As the room grew quiet, Sybil sipped at her tea and only looked up when she heard the bathroom door open. Accompanying the noise, Tom entered Sybil's bedroom wearing only a towel. It was rolled and tucked at the waist to keep it on his hips and his hair was damp; the stubble she had commented on in the middle of the night was gone, replaced by the fresh scent of his aftershave.

"Well," Martha commented, "It's been awhile since I've greeted a young man like this."

Sybil's eyes widened in horror. She looked to Tom who was already chuckling, now keeping a tight grip on the knot of his towel to ensure it would not loosen and fall down. "Granmumma!"

"Oh, lighten up, Sybil. There's no use faking modesty now. You may be English, but you have American blood in you. Don't you forget that."

Sybil went to Martha and willed her to stand up. "Okay, well Tom has to change now and then we'll be downstairs. Thanks for the tea and the chat," Sybil quickly uttered, doing her best now to walk her grandmother to the door. Even in her old age, she was agile, and the strength in which she resisted Sybil's urgency was not lost on anyone in the room.

"Oh. My. GOD!" Sybil muttered, practically leaning back against the now closed door. "She's nuts!"

"She's great," Tom breathed out, laughing. Eventually it trailed off as he thought of whether or not to reveal the thought currently in his head. He proceeded, but with caution, hesitant to bring the topic up even after he heard part of their discussion from the bathroom. "You remember what you said the other night? About Mary being your dad's favorite?" Sybil only looked at Tom, waiting for him to continue. She was hesitant, but she trusted his aim. "You're hers."

"And what about Edith?"

"Your mother has taken to Edith ever since she decided she didn't need to be anyone's favorite."

Sybil beamed and stepped into Tom. "Is that so?"

He nodded before leaning down to place a chaste kiss upon her lips. "Is that tea for me?"

Sybil looked over her shoulder to where the glow of the lamp caught upon the rising steam from his mug. "It's coffee," Sybil corrected. "She's adamant on not letting you forget who you are and where you came from."

"Sounds like someone else I know," he deadpanned.

Tom bent over to rummage in his luggage. From her current vantage point, sitting with her legs crossed on the bed, she stared at him, always having a special affection for his backside. She could only smile as he stood and straightened himself up, the muscles in his back contracting as his arm worked to zip his suitcase back up. "Do I have to wear anything special to this?"

"I don't think so. I'm wearing this. Hey, do you have a cardigan I can borrow?"

Tom glared at Sybil, his eyes judging her for asking that question. "You know it's sweltering out, right?"

"It's freezing in here though!" she defended in a whine. "And you know these things make me nervous—"

"Do you meet with solicitors to discuss wills often?"

"No..." Sybil said, biting her lip. "But maybe we should. And stop being a smartass!" she added.

Tom smiled and shook his head. "Yeah, yeah. Let's get through this first, alright?"

"Fine." But then: "Hey, have you seen Max this morning?"

"Yeah, he stopped in while you were in the shower. Asked me if we could drive in into London again."

"For?"

"It's Wednesday," Tom stated confidently. "Football."

Sybil nodded. "Oh right. But is..."

"If he wants to go and kick the ball around for a bit, I'd be more than happy to take him. I know the guys from Matthew's office said they'd skip it for the rest of the month, but if it makes him feel normal, I'll do it."

"Yeah," Sybil agreed. "I was thinking we could do dinner tonight too. See if he wanted to help make something. It would give him something to do..."

Tom was looping a belt through his jeans now, making Sybil realize how common all of this was, the nudity and the banter and the overall getting ready together. It had happened so many times before it seemed she failed to notice a behavior unless it was a change to their routine. "That sounds great."

Sybil put down her now empty mug and walked over to Tom. He was putting a simple black t-shirt on, but she stopped him, helping him pull the material down his torso. He smiled, and leaned in to taste her mouth, now a mix of black tea and peppermint, his hand immediately moving around her back to cup her bottom in approval.

"Hey," she said, breaking away. "I heard you on the phone with Hunter before, what was that all about?"

"He called me, actually. He just wanted to see how things were going and if there was anything he could do. He told me I could work from home for a bit if I needed to."

"And?"

"He told me about a story he wanted me to write but said it wasn't the right time. I don't know. You know how he is."

Sybil smirked, sitting back on the bed now. "I mean, not really." Tom looked to her, appearing to be almost startled by her words. Because of this, Sybil continued. "I mean, I know he's your boss and that you two have a good professional relationship," she said, her eyes trained on the way her fingers fidgeted around the handle of her mug which now rested on her pulled in knees.

"But?"

Sybil sighed, looking up. "But I also know what everyone else says about him. Like how he has all of those offshore bank accounts and how his methods of getting to the truth aren't always ethical."

Tom smirked. He was putting on deodorant now, but when he finished, he capped the stick and walked over to the bed to sit down with Sybil. "What do you want me to say?"

"Well can you talk about it?"

"It's not fight club, Syb. It's my job." He sighed when she failed to laugh. "What do you want to know?"

"Is he dodgy?"

Tom laughed. "No, I don't think so. He's sometimes abrasive, and firm, but I wouldn't call him dodgy."

"Does he ever have you do anything questionable?"

Amusement accented Tom's features. "Like?"

"Like bully people into giving information or—"

"Syb, I don't know. I go in, I do my job, I write my articles, but I stay out of his business. All I know is that he likes me, we respect one another, and I like what I do."

Sybil blinked. "Okay. Sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Tom said, brushing it off with a laugh. He leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead.

"Well I'm proud of you," she offered, hoping it was enough. "I know I've said it before and we talked about it in New York, but I'm really, really proud of you."

"I know you are."

Sybil looked down at her toes. Before she went to bed last night she had calculated the amount of hours it was since she last danced. Easily it was over one-hundred, and she couldn't remember when she had last waited so long to get back into things again. Of course her current circumstances were different, but the ache and need to move across a sprung floor was also quieted for a while, and as she hid her feet into a pair of socks, she wondered when it would return.

Eventually, Sybil and Tom decided they had gained enough time together to last them the rest of the morning. With sufficient strength, they meandered down the hallway, descending the staircase leading into the foyer where Carson was busying himself in the grandfather clock, the glass window pulled open. At the sound of footsteps, the butler presented himself to Sybil and Tom and instructed them that everyone else was already waiting in the library. In response, Sybil asked once again, where Max was.

"In the kitchen with Mrs. Patmore, I believe."

The two nodded and said their thanks to Carson, then headed toward the library, where already rumblings of tension could be heard. Robert, Cora, and Violet sat tight-lipped and stiff on the large couch in the center of the room. On another couch, Isobel sat with Martha, almost as if the divide existed on party lines and world views and not for the simple fact that these were the most comfortable of arrangements. Edith stood near a far bookshelf, her phone attached to her ear as she tried to have a vendor lower their current prices on a bulk order of champagne for a charity event she was planning for the week after her wedding.

Her wedding, Sybil thought with a heavy sigh. It was only a month away and surely, it would be a somewhat drab affair. Edith deserved the world, but she'd be out shined by Mary, this time in a way that broke everyone's heart.

"Are we ready to begin?" Michael asked, taking his place at Robert's desk.

Searching the room for the best possible seat, Tom settled on the small settee, where he then pulled Sybil down so that she was on his lap. She would have done more work to re-position herself if she didn't find her current spot to be extremely comfortable, and also quite comforting. The grip he had around her waist was steady and strong, and he leaned his face into her side, waiting just like she did, to hear what it was Mary and Matthew had planned.

"I think the best way to go about this is for me to break down the will, page by page. I doubt anyone will be surprised to hear that the structure of the will was done to fit Max's needs and ensure that he is the one receiving all of the benefits."

"Oh good, I was worried they'd lost their heads and give all their savings to charity," Violet quipped, earning an eye roll from Isobel. Tom practically bit into Sybil's shoulder to keep himself from laughing.

"The estate, that being the property in Mayfair, and the condo in France, are to be kept for Max until his twenty-first birthday. That is, at which time his guardians will sign everything over to him. There is an addendum referencing this property, and it is my understanding that it was planned to be left to Mary and Matthew at your death."

Cora nodded. "Yes, those provisions are set up in our will."

"Right. Well the addendum that I have leave those choices up to you. There's another addendum that would give the rights to Sybil and Edith, but with you two still living, it's a choice you'll have to make, on whether the estate is to go to Max when he is of age of split up between Sybil and Edith."

"It is to go to Max," Robert stated firmly.

"Well, Robert, maybe it'd be better if Max didn't have direct ownership. He'll be getting your title either way, so maybe the girls should just take it," Cora said, her eyes darting quickly to Edith and Sybil before returning to Michael. "Do we have to decide today?"

"Certainly not. We could sit down with your lawyer at a later date to discuss the details of Downton if you'd like."

"We would," Robert stated, earning an eye roll from Sybil.

"Now, you mentioned Max's guardians. I assume you mean us, as we're next of kin."

"Actually, no," Michael said as he quickly turned to the page in the will that detailed Max's preferred parentage. "If Mary and Matthew did not leave a will, that is how things would work, but—"

"Isobel would qualify for that as well, Papa! Don't be so selfish!" Sybil scolded, causing everyone in the room to question the proper roles of parent and child.

"Hush, Sybil. Now's hardly the time..." Cora reminded. Again, the youngest Crawley girl rolled her eyes, prompting Tom to pinch her side, sending her body squirming away from him. She returned his gesture with a slap to the leg, something that even managed to earn a disapproving glare from Martha. At the sight of this, they immediately straightened themselves up.

"Who then?" Martha interjected, wishing to bring everyone back to the matter at hand.

Cora dropped her head, terrified now as her mind calculated who else Mary and Matthew would ever find suitable to look after Max.

"He's to be put under the care of Isobel, but once they pass the background checks and the employment and residential verifications—"

"Who?" Isobel asked rather impatiently.

"Sybil and Tom."

Silence fell as everyone began to process this in their own way. Sybil looked to Tom, and he looked back, both of them slack jaw. Sybil could only blink, then swallow, and before she was pulled out of her daze, she swore she saw Tom's rough lips pull into a satisfied smirk.

"Jesus Christ, what a joke!"

"Robert, please!"

"No, Cora! They are children! Were Mary and Matthew under the influence when they wrote this will? Because I don't know in what world they thought this would ever work."

"Oh, please Robert! We don't know the specifics, maybe—"

"It's full guardian rights," Michael stated, wishing all at once to be removed from this situation completely. He was in a similar state of shock when he first read the will months ago, but this was not his place to say something, and the more he thought about it, it was not Robert's place either. Only a parent, one who loved their child in the way that Mary and Matthew loved Max, could truly know what they want for their child, and it seemed that the only person allowed to ask for an explanation to any of this could be the child himself.

"She's in university!" Robert exclaimed. "And he's only just started a job!"

"Robert, please be quiet and let Michael talk!" Isobel piped up, and suddenly the entire room was silent. She did not demand respect often. In most cases it was almost always given without question, but here, everyone took notice, and found she was well deserving of such a request.

"Sybil, Tom," Michael nodded. "Did you have any idea about this?"

Tom shook his head. "Not a clue," he answered for both of them.

"What does Max want?"

"What?" Michael asked, and with his question, everyone else leaned into Sybil.

"What does Max want?" she repeated before looking around. "Aren't you going to ask him?"

"Well it's not really up to him..." Michael began.

"But surely he must have some say. This isn't a game. This is his life!" Sybil reminded.

"Can we ask him?" Tom inquired, willing to help Sybil out.

"If you two don't feel competent there are legal proceedings—"

"I didn't say that, and neither did Sybil," Tom said, now sounding just the slightest bit agitated. "I merely asked if we can bring him in and ask him."

Cora sighed. "Carson, could you do me a favor and—"

Robert huffed. "Cora, you can't be serious."

"I think she's quite serious, Robert," Isobel spat.

"I, for one, would like to hear what Max has to say," Violet voiced, adamant for everyone to acknowledge this was her idea, a thought separate of Isobel's subconscious request.

"Mother, please!"

"Well Sybil's right. Give the child a chance to speak. It may all be nonsense, but we can't fault him for that. For all we know he could hate the idea too, and we'll be back to square one."

At Cora's request, Carson left the room. He returned shortly thereafter, with Max in tow.

"Max, bud, do me a favor and come have a seat."

"Am I in trouble?" the child inquired, looking back to Tom for an answer he could trust.

Sybil smiled warmly, hoping to calm all of Max's current fears, shown in the way he fidgeted, crossing and uncrossing his legs over one another. "No, not at all. You know Michael right? Mum and Dad's lawyer?" Max nodded. "Do you mind if we chat with him for a bit?"

"About what?"

Tom leaned in, offering Sybil some reprieve. "Well, he has a few questions." Again, the boy nodded. It was typical for him to become introverted in large social gatherings like the parties Cora often held. Yet, somehow in a room with just family, this felt similar, with all eyes cast upon him, seemingly ready to scrutinize his next move.

"Max," Michael began, his voice slow and full of caution. "Did mum and dad ever ask you about who you'd want to stay with if they had to go away for awhile?"

The question was one that lawyers were trained to go over with clients, wishing to prepare a will without startling their children. Here, such an effort seemed useless. The boy was already startled, and rightfully so. Life had taken him by the shoulders and thrown him around a bit, his first real fight, one that hurt and left an impact far greater than that left by schoolchildren in moments of immaturity.

Max looked to everyone else in the room, then turned back to Michael. "Uh, yeah."

"Did you give them an answer?"

"Yeah."

"What did you say?"

"Sybil and Tom."

"For Christ's sake..." Robert mumbled underneath his breath before covering his eyes with a hand.

"Robert, be quiet!" Cora hissed. "Max, go on."

"Well that's it, really. I told them that's who I feel most comfortable with and they didn't ask me anything else." Max turned back to Tom and Sybil. "Is that it? Can I go outside and ride my bike now?"

Sybil looked to Tom, then back to Max. She sighed. "Sure."

"Okay," Max shrugged.

She looked back to him, glancing at the way his body was without posture, slumping into itself as if the confidence he normally lacked was somehow more deficient than usual. "Did you put on sunscreen this morning?" Sybil asked, the idea suddenly occurring to her. "You got burnt last time," she reminded before allowing her voice to trail off. "Oh! And take a bottle of water with you."

Max sighed. "Okay." He began to walk away but stopped when he reached the door. Carson also stopped, knowing it was only appropriate to move at the request of others. Max turned back toward the room. "Hey Tom, can we still go into the city this afternoon?"

"Sure bud, whatever you want."

Max smiled, the first real and genuine smile anyone had seen from him since before his parent's accident. Then, he left the room.

Interrupting the silence, Robert sat forward. "Aren't there age restrictions? I mean, they are young."

"I'm almost twenty," Sybil reminded. "And Tom is twenty."

"Twenty is young, Sybil. And your father is right, you are in university," Cora tried.

"Well again, nobody has asked Tom or me what we think of this."

"What do you think of it, Sybil? Because I for one am very curious," Isobel said before leaning in. Her lips were pursed and her hands, folded neatly in her lap as she patiently awaited an answer.

Sybil looked to Tom. Though she knew the whole room was about to hear what she had to say, she wanted him to hear her best. "I'll leave Juilliard. I'll come home for awhile. I'lll do anything for Max," she promised, the edges of her mouth curling into a smile. "Whatever he needs."

Tom smiled too, wanting nothing more than to reach up and touch her face before kissing her lips.

"And you, Tom?"

"Yeah," he agreed, still in such awe of Sybil's grace. He didn't take his eyes off of her as he spoke a similar sentiment. "Whatever he needs."

"So this is it then?" Robert verbalized, sounding as helpless as he felt. "We can't challenge this?"

Michael sighed. "As I said, this is up to Sybil and Tom. Currently, the decision is in their hands. If they accept this role, they will undergo a process. It's rigorous, but if they seem to be on board and if the courts say they're competent, there's nothing we can do about it. This is the point of a will," he reminded. "It gives a voice to the dead and ensures their wishes are carried out even when they are long gone."

"If I may," Martha began. She sat forward as if to join the current conversation. "Sybil and Tom, this is nothing against you. I'm just curious if it's likely they'll pass. What are the qualifications for guardianship?"

"A steady income, good mental health history, reliable references."

"And age isn't an issue?" Violet clarified.

"Well, it is. Legally, you must be twenty-one to adopt a child, but this transcends usual circumstances. The will is not yielding and it will immediately be up to a judge. If this is something they wish to pursue, Sybil and Tom will undergo the examinations, and if everything checks out, Max will be put in their care."

"You're aware they aren't married, correct?" Robert reminded. "What happens if they break up?"

Sybil sighed. Her face was warm and her eyes narrowing as she thought of the appropriate response to such a thoughtless comment. When none came, she said the first thing that came to mind. "I'm sorry mother, but I'm confused as to when a marriage certificate guaranteed a happy home for a child."

"Oh Sybil, give it a rest!" Cora countered. Everyone else in the room looked down, afraid that if their eyes caught upon another's that the truth would begin to resurface again and make this all somehow more uncomfortable.

"Unfortunately, there is no provision for that in the will, or in the law, really. It will help that Sybil and Tom have known each other for a long time. It will also help that they were raised in the same household. By law, Tom is a family member."

"Oh really?" Violet quipped. "I thought that would ruin their case."

Sybil rolled her eyes. As she did so, she realized that her anger had turned to sadness, evident now in frustrated tears beginning to pool in the corners of her eyes. "Do we tell Max?"

"I can if you'd like," Michael offered. "Or you can wait until he asks. It's likely after everything is settled that he will sit down with a judge to discuss all of this anyway."

"So a judge explains to Max what is to happen to him?" Tom inquired. "This all seems so cold."

"I will say that we have one of the best adoption programs in the world. If you were in any other country, they might not allow it. The other good thing is that by the time all of this is settled, you two will be twenty-one so—"

Cora let out a loud sob, reminding Sybil of the way she cried at the hospital, and then again at the funeral, and many times in between. She waved everyone away, as if to say she was okay, really just wishing they would ignore her natural response to something so difficult to grasp. The past year she had watched Sybil grow up so quickly, adding to the years she felt she had already missed. This just seemed to be another task added to her to-do list, changing her daughter into a woman, someone she no longer had proper influence over.

"Mama?"

Cora hid her eyes behind her hand, applying pressure to her temples to rid her head of its current throbbing. She shook her head, hoping it was enough for everyone to leave her alone, especially when words seemed difficult.

"There's time," Michael settled. "And you certainly have options. I will say that I think it is in everyone's best interest to discuss this and truly think of what is best for Max."

"And if this is something we want to pursue?" Tom asked.

Michael nodded. "Then I'll help you to begin the process. We can set up your appointments as soon as they become available. But really, there's no rush. Max can stay under Isobel's care until then."

Sybil sighed. She looked to Tom and found him returning her gaze. They said nothing, but their eyes danced back and forth, discussing things the rest of the room only wished they could hear. Finally, Sybil turned back to Michael and spoke up. "We want the appointments made as soon as possible."

"Sybil, darling, maybe we should discuss this first…" Cora attempted.

"No," Sybil stated confidently. "This is what Mary and Matthew wanted and I think it's what's best for Max. He said it himself, it's what he prefers."

"What he prefers is for his parents to be alive, Sybil! He doesn't know what he wants!" Robert countered.

"Give him some credit, Robert!" Tom roared. "He may be a child but he has his own mind."

"Tom, you have no idea what it is like to raise a child," Cora said, her teeth practically grinding with each passing word.

"You're absolutely right. But I do know what it's like to grow up without parents. I know the things I wished and hoped for. I know that nobody ever asked me what I wanted…"

Cora sighed. "Well I'm sorry your upbringing here was so unfortunate!"

Sybil tightly shut her eyes, choking back the hurt she was currently carrying for Tom. "Mama, Tom didn't mean it like that."

"Of course not," Cora said, choking back another set of tears. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Tom assured. "Sybil's right. I didn't mean it like that. I was blessed to be adopted by you and Robert. It was what my mother wanted and I'm glad it worked out. I'm in a good place now because of it, and I can't say many kids that were once in my circumstances can agree. All I'm saying is that if this is what Mary and Matthew wanted, we have a right to honor that. It is clear this was difficult for them to decide, but it's done. Besides, it's clear that regardless of guardianship, Max will need all of us. It's selfish to make this an issue of ownership. Even if we weren't so young, we'd still need your help."

Not once had Sybil taken her eyes off of him. It seemed impossible now that he was being this brave in such a large room filled with small-minded people. His courage was beautiful, and she wished to lean into him and hold him, wrapping her arms around him in appreciation of all the words she wished to share with everyone. As usual, his thoughts were her own, and he articulated them with such conviction, she wondered if he were somehow reading her mind, speaking for the both of them, giving her a voice when it seemed she had lost her own.

Carson interrupted the silence and informed the room that lunch would be served in exactly an hour. Before retiring back up to their rooms, everyone agreed that there was much left to be discussed, and Sybil added that she and Tom planned to make dinner with Max that night, and that then would be the perfect time for them to talk to him about his plans for the future. Though no one seemed to find any of this to be comforting, they had no other choice but to trust the bond between the three youngest family members. It was difficult to admit, but Tom and Sybil did know parts of Max he didn't dare show to the rest of the world. They saw him differently, and treated him with much more reverence. Nobody could foresee if they'd be the best option as guardians for Max, but it seemed that in the meantime, they'd do their best to respect the child's wishes before relaying his choices to the rest of the family.

~!~

"Can I help?"

Sybil looked up from the silver bowl Tom had set her in front of. She wasn't much of a cook, but she did well taking direction from him, always using their time in the kitchen to her advantage as she lovingly watched him move about, his mind whirling as he concocted recipes in his head. A smile spread across her features and she pulled her hands, sticky from the raw meat were kneading, out of the mixture.

Tom had no other option but to smile back, the action one that was so innate it required little effort. "Of course," he said, happy that Max was willing to lend a hand. They weren't going to ask in the way they usually would, and they assumed that Max would just join them if they preferred but the entire kitchen stood as a reminder that all was still not settled, and that many moments would have to pass before even a semblance of normalcy peeked through the proverbial clouds.

"Do you wanna grab me a pan from the pantry?"

Max jumped down off his stool. His face was still emotionless, but he moved with purpose. "What size?"

"One big enough to fit all of these meatballs."

The boy followed the request and disappeared into the back pantry to retrieve a large pan. In his absence, Tom moved to Sybil, looking over her shoulder to observe the progress she had made, mixing the raw meat with various herbs.

"I'm doing fine," Sybil said, rolling her eyes. "I can hardly mess this up."

Tom laughed. "You've managed on smaller tasks," he reminded.

Sybil gave him a nudge with her hip, sending him scooting away from her. He wanted to laugh, to let go and be silly with her in a way that used to be so easy, but here, and with Max's returned presence, it all seemed inappropriate.

"Does this work?"

Tom beamed, doing his best to show the child he approved. "Perfect."

Max handed the pan to Sybil and then walked to the refrigerator to grab a drink. Sybil watched him go, and then spoke up, only when he remained at the open door. "There's lemonade in the back fridge."

Max peeked his head out from behind the refrigerator door. "From a bottle?"

"No way," Tom said, shaking his head. "Mrs. Patmore made it last night. I had some this morning. It's delicious. Just the right amount of sour."

Max smirked and then disappeared again, this time returning quickly, the cold pitcher of lemonade in his hand. Tom reached above Sybil to grab for a glass. He handed it to the boy, who took it willingly, quickly filling his cup almost to the brim with the refreshing beverage. Max sipped at the liquid and then looked back to Sybil and Tom, satisfied with Tom's earlier assessment of the drink.

"Max, can you go stir the sauce, please?" Sybil requested.

Again, Max jumped down off the stool he was sitting on, this time walking into the kitchen toward the stove. He grabbed the wooden spoon from its place on the porcelain utensil rest, where a small drop of homemade tomato sauce collected, congealing the more it sat separate from the rest of the mixture. "Is this supposed to be bubbling?"

"How many bubbles are we talking about?" Tom inquired, looking back toward Max to monitor their meal's progress.

Max counted, then turned back to Tom. "Like three. They're small."

"Yeah, that's fine," Sybil affirmed before walking toward Max. She carried with her the bowl of ground meat. Behind her, Tom followed, stepping into the space next to her to pour a small amount of oil into the pan Max had retrieved.

Sybil began to form balls out the the ground turkey, carefully placing each imperfect cluster in the pan once it was to her liking. No longer did she find it necessary to ask Tom if the size was correct, or if the temperature of the pan was too high. She knew the answer to these questions and many more, and she'd keep learning similar things, like how he adored when she trusted her own decisions, in this kitchen and out.

Max stirred the sauce then sighed, pulling the wooden spoon out of the mixture to put it back down on its rest. "I don't know why anyone won't tell me anything. I can handle it."

Tom looked to Max. "Okay. What do you want to know?"

"What was that meeting about today?"

Tom looked to Sybil, feeling it was her turn to respond. "You, mostly."

"Why wasn't I invited?"

"Nothing is final, bud. There's a lot to be discussed. We don't want to scare you with anything we're not certain of."

"Am I going to live with you guys now then?"

"Who?" Sybil inquired.

"You guys. You and Tom."

Tom looked to Sybil, then back to Max. "What do you want?"

Max shrugged. "I don't know. Do I have a choice?"

Sybil sighed. "If it's up to me, you do. Tom and I are going to do our best to make sure you live wherever you want to live with the people you want to live with, for as long as you'd like."

"Can we still live in my house?" Max questioned.

Tom shrugged. "I guess so. I don't see why not. Is that what you want?"

"Yeah, I think so." And then: "So it'd just be us three?"

Sybil looked to Tom, then back to her nephew. "Whatever you want, bud."

"I think that's okay."

"You don't have to just because it's what mum and dad—"

"No, I think it's a good idea. Maybe it'll be fun."

All of the meatballs were in the pan now. Tom smiled and Sybil joined him, overcome by a sense of pride, one that could only be felt by the few parents who had children that chose them, instead of the other way around.

As the outsides began to crisp, Sybil moved the food around, purposely using a fork because she knew it irritated Tom. "Max, do you wanna carefully scoop these into the sauce now?"

Max stepped to the side, filling in the place Tom had vacated. While he was gone, Sybil reached down to lower the temperature on the burner, bringing the sauce to a low simmer so it was merely warm enough to finish cooking the meatballs. Tom returned with a pot of water and bag of fresh pasta he was sure Mrs. Patmore had purchased the last time she went out for groceries. Sybil moved so he could put the pot on the back burner, and Max watched as she stood behind him, her arms snaking around his waist as she leaned her cheek against his back, waiting for him to prepare the water with salt and bring it to a boil before pouring the spaghetti in.

Soon, everything was complete, and Sybil was forced to detach from Tom, breaking the scene Max was so transfixed by. He shook his head as if to pull them all out of it as food was plated and drinks were poured, preparing them all for the upcoming meal.

Sybil poured herself a glass of water and, without having to ask, grabbed Tom a beer from the back fridge. He smiled at the gesture, one Max shrugged off, as he rejected her offer of a refill on his lemonade. "I can get it," he said, walking away only to return, another full glass of the beverage in his hands.

At the table, they ate in silence.

"Is Granma Martha really moving here?"

Sybil looked to Max, swallowing the pasta she had only just bit off her fork. "She might," she confirmed as she wiped her hands on the napkin in her nap. "Would you like that?"

Max nodded. "I think it'd be nice."

"You should tell her that," Tom said, wiping his mouth with his napkin. "I think she'd like to hear that."

"I will," Max agreed. It was silent again, but Max took this as another opportunity to voice a thought. "Is everyone mad at me?"

Sybil shook her head, swallowing quickly again. Just as Tom did, she dabbed at her lips with her napkin. "Of course not. Why would you say that?"

"I don't know," Max shrugged. "Everyone only asks if I want food, or if I need anything. I'm being talked at, not to. It's like I'm not really here," he finished.

Sybil looked to Tom then back to her nephew. "Do we make you feel like that?"

"I don't think so...can I ask a question though?" Sybil and Tom both nodded, urging Max to continue. "Do you even want me?"

Sybil dropped her fork and leaned in to grab for Max, placing a reassuring hand to his cheek. "What?"

"Well, like, I'm not your kid and you'd have to leave school for a bit and—"

"Max, you are my family. I love you and I want nothing more than to make this all okay. If that means leaving school for a bit, then so be it. Whatever you need is what we plan to do."

"Maybe I should just go with Granmama for a while," Max said, looking back to his plate. The fork he only just used to twirl his pasta now pushed aimlessly at the cooling food.

"Is that what you want?" Tom asked.

"No. I mean, I love granmama and I don't want her to be alone but she still works a lot. And she treats me like a kid."

Tom smirked at this from behind the rim of his bottle of ale. "You know Max, you are a kid. Ten is young by most standards…"

"You've only got ten years on me. Barely," he added, earning a chuckle from Sybil, which had her body lurching forward while she covered her mouth with her hand to stifle the noise of her laughter. Tom glared at her, and it was all too much. She practically snorted, for the first time since the funeral, finding something to be truly and unapologetically funny.

"You're not much better off," Tom quipped.

Sybil stuck out her tongue, happy that there were no psychiatrists or court ordered social workers here now to observe her behavior. "You have a month and a half on me. Shut your face." The last comment had Max smiling too. "See what you've started?" Sybil teased. "We're a sorry lot."

Feeling satisfied with his meal and the banter he and Sybil and Tom were currently lost in, Max leaned back and pushed his plate away to state he was done. "Mum was really proud of you and she was really sad we couldn't go to your recital. She just kept saying how she knew you'd always find a way to make it all work."

Sybil forced a smile, searching Max's face for more, an elaboration of her exact words, or the way she must have looked when revealing them. She found nothing but the sadness evident across his face as he realized, just as she now did, that this was a memory, and it was these and all the others, many of them but never enough, that were left of his mother.

"I don't think she'd want you to give that up," Max said, nodding, as if to convince himself of the same.

"I'm not giving it up," Sybil assured by covering Max's hand with her own. "I'll still dance everyday if you want me to. But right now I think it might be best if I'm here for a bit. I mean, I'll be taking off time anyway, I think. At least a year. Why not spend it together?"

"Maybe Tom and I can just hang out while you go to New York?"

Sybil smiled. "You'd like that, I'm sure. Though I fear the rules that would be set up in my absence."

"I'd eat fine," Max quipped causing Tom to choke on a bubble of laughter that had long remained stagnant in the back of his throat.

Sybil nodded, a sly smile now pulling at her cheeks. "That you would."

"And we'd play a lot of football."

"Yes, you would."

"We'd miss you though," Max began, his voice immediately softening.

Sybil nodded, her eyes nearly welling at this final sentiment. "I'd miss you too."

"More than dancing or New York?"

Another nod, but Sybil was careful not to let any tears fall. "Definitely."

~!~

After dinner, Max asked if he could be excused. It was clear that a certain sadness hit him quickly, like a headache, or a stomach bug, settling in and refusing to leave until sleep was had, or at the very least, time passed. At his request to go upstairs, Sybil and Tom looked to one another, a reminder of their current reality, and how for as good as the meal they just shared was, it was not enough to correct the events of the past week.

"Of course," Sybil smiled sweetly. "Do you want anything before you go up?"

"I think your granmum had your favorite ice cream delivered today with the milk…" Tom added, hoping it would make the child smile.

Max forced a smirk but shook his head. "No, thanks." He turned to the door, but then stepped back, causing Sybil and Tom to once again freeze as they waited for his words, hoping they'd come slowly enough to allow them to give him the perfect response in return. "Do you want help with the dishes?"

Again Sybil smiled. She turned to the sink, pretending to nod toward the small pile their shared meal had accumulated. "No, thanks though. Call us on the intercom if you need anything. We'll be up soon to say goodnight." By the time she turned back, her eyes had turned a crimson shade as pressure built behind them, her mouth mimicking this as she kept a loud sob hidden deep down within her chest.

She blinked, keeping her eyes tightly lidded, pushing one tear then several more out, cascading down her pink cheeks. Annoyed by her own weakness, she pushed at her skin, hoping to dry her under-eyes with the pads of her thumbs. When that seemed futile, Tom stepped into her, wishing somehow that the size of his hands would bring her comfort and make easier work of the job. Already though, Sybil was grabbing for the stack of dirty dishes, ready to bring them to the sink to be washed. "I'm fine," she muttered. "I'm fine," she whispered again, this time completing the picture with a smile that nearly had Tom breaking down.

In silence, they washed the dishes. The dishwasher had been emptied after lunch, ready to collect the next morning's breakfast china. With all of the adults out to dinner in the village, Sybil and Tom took to an old tradition they had with Tom's mother, one that found them washing the dishes as a way of thanking the universe for such a good meal. Even then, Downton's kitchen had been upgraded with a dishwasher, with another being added a few years later. Still, it seemed impolite to put the dirty dishes away there and press "start", leaving a machine to clean up the mess they had made. There was also something holistically therapeutic about washing dishes with your best friend, both of you elbow-deep in sudsy water that hid the filth created from grease and oil of the dinner you prepared together.

They never believed in one of them washing and the other drying. This was a partnership of equals, and to delineate such tasks would be to eliminate the fun they'd usually have, flicking bubbles at one another, or stacking the then clean dishes on the drying rack like an impromptu game of domesticated Jenga.

Tonight, they left the clean dishes to dry on their own. They did not bother to unstack them out of fear that they'd drop one or more plates, creating shards of porcelain on the floor that would certainly cause more tears than was necessary. On the way out of the kitchen, Tom grabbed a post-it note from the fridge and scribbled a small note to Mrs. Patmore explaining to her that they were too tired to do the dishes, but that if she left them, they'd put them away in the morning. Of course she'd come in the next day and put them away, not once feeling put off for being left to take care of such a task. After all, it was her job, and she would do anything for this family, especially during their time of need.

At the bottom of the stairs, Tom turned back to the kitchen to ensure it was just as it was before they came down to prepare dinner. It was, and in accepting this, he hit the light switch on the wall, sending the room into darkness as he wrapped his arm lazily around Sybil's shoulders, holding her close.

She looked up to him. "Your handwriting is still pretty awful," Sybil commented. Her arm was around Tom's waist now as the two began to ascend the steps up to the main floor.

"I offered for you to write the note, you know."

Sybil smirked. "I know. It's fine," she said casually before returning her attention to him, her eyes moving up from the steps to his cobalt eyes. "It's cute."

Tom rolled his eyes. "Okay, weirdo."

They were at the top of the main staircase now, still slouched into one another as their feet brought them down the hall toward Sybil's room. "Do you want me to run you a bath?" Tom asked as he pushed open Sybil's bedroom door.

She just shook her head, not even waiting for the door to close to begin ridding herself of her clothing. Practically naked now, she took off her bra, and covered her naked chest with a simple tank top. Cold and weary, she collapsed on her bed, lazily moving only to cover herself up with her duvet, still balled at the center from where they had left it that morning.

"Shit," she muttered, her words slurred a bit from the way her face was pressed into her pillow. "Grab me my robe, will you? I need to go say goodnight to Max."

Tom shook his head. He was changed now too, but he moved to put his t-shirt back on. "I'll go check on him."

"Do you think—"

"Stay. He's probably already asleep."

Tom returned moments later, confirming what he had assumed: that Max was already asleep. He went to make a small joke about it being unlikely Max let him in anyway, noting that Max was never the type to need to be tucked in before bed each night. Tom hoped it would elicit a small smile from Sybil, but instead all he heard was more crying, as everything she had held back since that morning, painted her cheeks, revealing to him how she was truly feeling.

Quickly he moved to sit down next to her on the bed, enveloping her in a hug she graciously accepted, her body almost falling into him as she too sought him out.

Through a sniffle, Sybil apologized to Tom, not daring to pick her head up so that he could see her face when she did so.

"Syb, please don't, love." He smoothed back her hair, thinking of a way where more of her could be pressed against him if it would only make her feel safe and urge her to calm down. He thought of none so he continued to hold her like this, pressing kisses repeatedly to the crown of her head. It would be duration and not intensity that got them through tonight.

"I want to be strong like you," Sybil choked out.

"You are."

Sybil picked up her head, and removed her arm from around his neck just so she could smooth back the unruly tresses coming undone from her braided headband. "No, I'm not," she whispered. This time, her eyes bore into him, somehow needing him to believe her. If he knew this, he could fix it, and they could both stop running.

"They don't think we can do it, but I think we can. And I really want to. I just feel that this is the right thing and as soon as Michael said it, I thought of Mary and Matthew and how much love and faith they must have in us to even make this an option, let alone ensure it. If they trust us with Max then we should trust us too, you know? And I know my parents are hurt and maybe Isobel is hurt too but…"

"Syb, love, you know I'd never want you to give up your dancing, and I don't think you have to. I mean, maybe we could move to New York or—"

"I don't want to move to New York. I want to stay here and make sure that Max is okay. I just know if Max is okay, I will be too."

Tom exhaled, the sound coming out of him with much more force than either of them were expecting. With it, a small laugh, one that Tom ceased when he pressed his lips down to Sybil's. "You're crazy. Well," he said, thinking better of his statement, "we're both crazy I guess, because I think we can do it too. And I want to do it and I don't doubt for a second that this isn't the best option for Max. And hey," Tom added, picking up Sybil's chin. "They're hard on you because they love you." And then slowly and with less volume: "You don't want to be strong like me, Syb. I'm strong because I have to be. And now maybe if we do this, Max will never have to know that strength."

Sybil shook her head. The tears were still falling, but fell marked by a different kind of sadness. This time, they were lazy, as she thought of Tom always feeling so alone. It wasn't anything a best friend or a good upbringing on a beautiful estate could fix. To grow up without your parents is to face the world alone. "I love you. And you're my family," she said, her words promising more than she thought she ever could.

He kissed the tip of her nose, feeling her eyelashes flutter as he did so, soft butterfly kisses placed to his own cheek. "Are you going to be harsh on me now, then?" he teased.

"No," Sybil affirmed, her voice failing to waiver. "I'm just going to love you. With everything in me. That's the difference with the family you choose - we're much more forgiving."

* * *

x. Elle


End file.
